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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516640">A Second Chance</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscommon/pseuds/Roscommon'>Roscommon</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Stephanie Plum - Janet Evanovich</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Angst and Romance, F/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-08 04:48:38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>266,064</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27516640</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roscommon/pseuds/Roscommon</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven years after she left Trenton due to family tragedy, Stephanie Plum has learned to stand on her own and has built a life and career. Unexpectedly, she encounters Ranger, who has also gone through changes since they were last together. While helping Ranger to clear his name, can she show him how to have a second chance at friendship or more? (Cross posted on fanfiction dot net.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ricardo Carlos Manoso/Stephanie Plum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Out of the Blue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Wonder Woman was infatuated with Batman; Henry Higgins kept Eliza guessing. After a few miles down the road of life, what do Stephanie Plum and Ricardo Mañoso need and want? This story probably takes place after book 20, but with minimal spoilers. As you may guess from the summary, there is angst, yet also love.</p><p>Many thanks to jbspencer06 on fanfiction dot net, who kindly helped fix some confusions and omissions. Any errors that remain are mine alone.</p><p>I don't own the Stephanie Plum characters and trademarks belong to thir owners. I do not make any profit, though this story and any original characters are mine. This story is purely for entertainment, so there may be errors.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 1: Out of the Blue</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie stood up and wiped her hands on the plaid hand towel while she looked for her phone. She could tell from the ringtone that it was Joe Morelli, which was a bit confusing. He had called to check in last week, the day after Halloween. So, she wasn’t expecting to hear from him again this soon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she still appreciated that he checked up on her. And she’d come to really value their re-built friendship over the past seven years, but they both had their own lives. There wasn't a Rangers or Bruins game this evening. So she couldn't think of an obvious reason for him to be calling after 9pm on a Friday night.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally spotting the phone underneath a pile of homework on the table, she grabbed it and answered. “Hello Joe. What’s up?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Steph, sorry to call so late. Hope this is an okay time.” She could tell from the tone of his voice that it wasn’t an emergency, so she breathed out a quick sigh of relief. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure, Joe. You know you can call any time. Are you looking for tips on how to hide the Halloween candy from Angelina so she stops climbing the walls?” She heard him chuckle. His daughter Angelina was almost four years old and had apparently taken the neighborhood by storm in her Disney princess costume. As Joe’s wife Amanda described it, Angelina had amassed enough candy to stay awake for the next two years straight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, but I’ll take any tips you might have," he chuckled again. "Though, if I remember right, you used to hide your candy all over the house so nobody else could find it. So probably I shouldn’t let you talk to Angelina for about four months.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She laughed at that. “Okay, I promise I won’t say a word. But, I think it might be a Plum family genetic thing, so we’ll all have to be kept incommunicado. Ever since the girls came to live with me seven years ago, I can’t tell you how many times I found Halloween candy stashed behind the DVDs or in shoes. Not to mention Mary Alice’s Easter candy, which I found under the sofa cushions in August one time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey! I heard that." Mary Alice called out from the dining room. “That was a long time ago.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie could hear Joe chuckle again. “Steph, if you guys had stayed in the Burg, I’d be really worried right about now. Just the fact that you’re in Boston, still on the East Coast, makes me sweat sometimes.” Steph saw Mary Alice in the kitchen doorway making a face. As Stephanie rolled her eyes in return, Mary Alice smiled and mouthed “Entenmann's” while pointing at the bottom oven door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh, at which point Mary Alice nodded smugly and ducked out of the doorway. “Mary Alice just pointed out where I stashed my not-so-secret emergency crumb cake last weekend. So probably you shouldn't let Angelina hang out with any of us until she's at least through adolescence."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Joe erupted into full-blown laughter. "Steph, I can't tell you how good it is that some things never change. I take it all back. Remind your dad that you're all welcome on Christmas Eve when you visit over the holidays." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I will, Joe. And that's really nice of you to invite my whole entourage, along with my dad. He told me that he really appreciated that you invited him to poker night last week. He's happy living with his sister, but he does get lonely for ‘guy time’.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Happy to, Steph," he said. "But that's not why I called." He hesitated, then continued slowly. "I got an odd 'person of interest' text about an hour ago for Boston, and wanted to let you know."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, Joe. I'll be happy to check into it for you. I'm not back in the office until Monday, but I have my Boston PD laptop here. They finally figured out that, even though I'm in the Community Liaison department, if they give me the right tools I can usually find my own missing contacts without taking detective time."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe snorted on the other end of the phone. "Steph, you could find a missing person using a needle floating on water and a Romper Room mirror. Having the laptop just makes it faster. I'm glad my old buddy Ryan finally figured it out." He paused again. "This time, though, I'm not calling for your help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay, Joe, then you may as well stop tippy-toeing around it, and just tell me." As Stephanie spoke, she watched as Mary Alice shepherded her younger sisters, Lisa and Sarah, into the kitchen. "Wait Joe, hold that thought just a sec." Stephanie reached down and whispered "goodnight" while giving each girl a hug and a kiss. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing back up, she reached out to Mary Alice, who was Stephanie's height in stockinged feet. "Goodnight sweetie," she murmured while Mary Alice said she was going to be upstairs reading until bedtime. As they trooped out of the room in a chorus of "good-night"s, Stephanie brought the phone back up to talk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Okay Joe, I'm back."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, are you sitting down?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rolled her eyes, and then pulled out a chair from the table. “If this is a sitting-down conversation I have to assume that, somehow, one of my deviant cousins is involved.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not exactly, Steph.” He paused and Stephanie could hear him take a breath. “The report I received through the priority channel is that a man named Ricardo Mañoso has been picked up on an unlicensed firearms charge outside of Mattapan in Boston.” Stephanie gasped and gripped the edge of the kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe continued, “I checked into it briefly, and I’m pretty sure it’s Ranger. All they’ll tell me is that he was passed-out, maybe drunk, in a stolen car. They’re holding him for questioning on a gang shooting last night in Dorchester, since that particular car was identified at the scene of the shooting and at least one of the guns in the car is the same caliber as the murder weapon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God, Joe.” Stephanie exhaled, “Can you do something about it?” Even as she asked that, she knew it was a stupid question. But, she didn’t know what to say. It felt like she was suddenly lost in a confusing dream. She hadn’t heard the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger </span>
  </em>
  <span>in at least six years. At least, not outside of her own thoughts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, Boston is way out my Trenton jurisdiction. Besides, I'm personally fine if he's locked up somewhere for the long haul." He took a breath, and before she could object he added, "Whenever Ranger ghosts into town these days he's a major pain in the TPD's side. We can never pin anything on him. But, after he vanishes again, we either find a group of gang-bangers dead by the waterfront or some foreign businessman has disappeared.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He snorted. “And, of course, we have to clear up the mess and take the heat for another unsolved crime.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stephanie sat, still reeling, Joe added softly, “But, I know you considered him to be your friend. I knew you’d want to hear this.” He paused again, and then continued, a grimace clear in his tone of voice, “And, Steph, I really hate to say this, but I have my doubts on this one. You should know that Ranger has gotten a rep for occasional drinking and bar-fights, maybe twice a year. But not carelessness. Never carelessness.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both were silent, momentarily, lost in their own thoughts. Finally Stephanie spoke up, “Joe, you’re right, I’m glad you told me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"By the way, Steph, it sounds like bail is going to be high. He's suspected of murder, even if they don't get proof tonight. There were drugs found in the car; enough to charge him with intent to distribute if they can tie them to him. And, he's a thorn in the BPD's side, too. We all want to hold him for questioning, for some reason or another."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, drawing a pattern on the top of the kitchen table. “Do you know... does he still have anyone in Trenton?” She nibbled her lower lip, waiting for his answer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that I know of. When he sold his interest in Rangeman and they moved operations to Baltimore, like five or six years ago, I stopped seeing most of the guys I recognized. Obviously Hal McGuinnest works for us, now, but I asked him a few years ago and he said that Ranger never contacts him. And I don’t think Ranger stayed close to that guy Cary Ramsfield—I think you called him Ram—since Ramsfield joined the DEA.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But, you still see Ranger sometimes in Trenton?” She continued drawing a pattern on the table, not sure why she wanted to know.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, a few times a year. But, never for long. As best we can tell, he must be based in New York somewhere. He comes here, he goes to Newark, he goes to Philadelphia, but always seems to disappear back across the Hudson. Who knows; maybe he lives in a tunnel or an abandoned tanker. We have no idea.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, well, I’m not sure it matters anyway.” She stood up from the table. “But, thanks for calling me about this, Joe, I really appreciate it. A lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No problem, Steph. Keep safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they ended the call, Stephanie turned to the fridge, kissed her finger, and then touched a picture of Angie sitting in her Wellesley dorm room, adding another fingerprint smudge to the plastic sleeve holding the photo. “Good night, honey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since Angie had left for college on her scholarship last year, this had become an evening ritual that always made Stephanie feel better, no matter what had happened during the day. It reminded her, every night, that even the most challenging situations could work out. That every day was a new chance to reach out and make things better. That help could come from unexpected sources, just when you needed it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because, of all the girls, Angie had taken all the changes the hardest. The eldest of Val's four daughters, Angie was thirteen-going-on-thirty when both Val and Albert had died in the car crash that had changed all of their lives. And, she had rebelled hard. Thank God that Albert's family had stepped in, offering Stephanie this house to live in, along with day-to-day support for her sudden role as mother of four. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Angie, though, had gone from fury to silence when Stephanie had picked them up and moved them all to Boston. Albert's mother, a retired school counselor, had finally given Stephanie the key. She told Stephanie to close her eyes and listen with her ears and her heart, instead of watching Angie’s stony face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More practically, she enrolled them in a mother/daughter cooking class. It was an immense relief as Angie slowly made her peace over the learned, nightly ritual of cooking family dinners together. Stephanie eventually understood that Angie had needed to feel like one of the family’s caretakers. Living with Val and Albert, she guessed it wasn’t surprising that Angie had an overdeveloped sense of responsibility. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that rocky start, Stephanie still cherished the day, a year later, that Angie came into her bedroom and said that the girls all wanted to change their last name to Plum. To Stephanie’s surprise, the Kloughns had agreed that the girls should all finally have the same last name, and that Plum was a fine one. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Angie Plum was a successful college student, Mary Alice Plum was a high-school senior with a scholarship offer at U-Mass, while Lisa and Sarah Plum were flourishing in grade school. As she walked into the livingroom, Stephanie reflected that, overcoming misfortune, they had built a pretty good life together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she sighed, putting that memory aside for a moment while she logged into her BPD laptop. After poking around, she found the station where Ranger was being held. She couldn’t get any details, but managed to find out that he was being kept at least overnight. And she tracked down the senior officer on site, Detective Breyer, to get his approval to see Ranger as the night’s interrogation was winding down. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After letting Mary Alice know she had to head out for a couple hours, Stephanie put on her heavy coat, picked up her purse, and went downstairs. She saw a light under the door of the first floor tenant, Mrs. Arshad, so also let her know. None of them were particularly surprised. Though it wasn’t a regular occurrence, Stephanie’s job as a community liaison for the BPD sometimes called her out at odd hours. Stephanie mused that this would be more challenging after Mary Alice started college. Something to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping outside, she pulled her coat tighter. This week they’d had a cold snap, reminding them all that it was November and time for winter. She could see her breath puffing in front of her in the cold, as she unlocked the car. While visualizing what a car-care fairy might look like, if she ever found one, she made a mental note to pull the shovel and snow gear out of the garage this weekend, and have the tire inflation checked. She wondered if there were any snow-shoveling elves living with the car-care fairies.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she started the car, a very used Subaru Tribeca SUV, cold air started gusting through the heating vents and the CD player started up. She remembered, with a rueful smile, her dad telling her she should always turn them off before shutting down the car. “Yes dad,” she thought, “and I should buy an American car and I should get it washed and detailed monthly.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Chuckling to herself, she turned off the fan to give the car a chance to run for awhile so the heat could work, but left the music on. Humming absent-mindedly along with the CD, she drove down the somewhat unfamiliar roads to get to the Mattapan/Dorchester station. Suddenly, she realized that this was the “It Will Rain” song on the CD that she always fast-forwarded over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached forward and skipped to the next one. Mary Alice had made this compilation CD for her, with songs from Bruno Mars, CeeLo, and Lionel Richie. However, this one song could still make her cry if she thought about it too deeply, and it's never good to go into work with running mascara.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled into the employee lot, tapping her parking card to raise the gate. Looking around, she got out of the car, hitched her purse onto her shoulder, and made her way into the back entrance of the station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she walked down the hall to the prisoner holding wing, she spotted a number of officers she recognized. For a moment she was confused that it was so busy after 10pm, but then remembered it was Friday night. As her boss liked to say, "Friday night: The engraved invitation to the weekend drunk tank."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped at the check-in desk, saying “I’m here to see Ricardo Mañoso; Breyer okayed it via email," as she pushed her ID under the transom in the bulletproof glass window. The admitting officer, Joe O'Reilly, checked his screen, then stacked and pushed the paperwork back through the transom. “You know the drill, Plum. Sign and return.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started filling in the reason for her visit and, with sweaty hands, signed the various forms. She’d done this dozens of times before, but this time it felt like she was watching herself from outside. Then, as she looked at the admitting mug shots to confirm she was visiting the right prisoner, it felt like all the air had escaped the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After seven years, his face still stopped time for her. Front and side views</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>with a number</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>it was so incongruous. But, it was him. A bit disheveled, a bit roughed up. More than a five-o'clock shadow grizzling his face. But, yet... it was him. She stood, transfixed, staring at his eyes, which glared from the photo with all the dark intelligence she remembered, yet none of the humor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was interrupted in her thoughts by O'Reilly, on the other side of the glass. "Plum, you know that asshole?" She watched as he put down his mug of coffee. Stephanie knew that O'Reilly basically chugged coffee for his full shift to stay sharp. A few years from retirement, he was a fixture at this station. She mused idly that he was somewhat like the old-fashioned vending machine over against the far wall. She focused on his coffee, filled with milk and sugar, as though it held the answer on how to proceed as if this were all normal.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Apparently unaware of her state of confusion, O'Reilly continued, "Heck, Plum, you're the reigning champ at getting juvies to confess to misdemeanors, so as we can get them into halfway house programs and off the streets." He stopped, brushing his hand across his bottle-brush crew cut. "But if you can get that stone-faced banger to confess, the whole department will take you to Union Oyster House."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She grimaced, handing over the final signed form and her ID through the transit in the glass. "Ugh, no need." She'd tried raw oysters before, and once truly was enough. He buzzed her in, and she handed over her coat, purse and car-keys, and stood to be frisked and wanded. She mumbled to herself, "Sheesh, when did I become one of the guys? Oysters? Anyhow, I'm more of a Bella Luna or House of Pizza kind of gal." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She realized that her inner dialog tonight was just a way to distract herself. To keep from thinking about who was on the other side of the closed interrogation-room door that the duty officer was unlocking. As the door swung open with a slight squeak, she stood for a moment in the doorway, steeled herself, and then walked in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt it immediately: The tingle that raced along the back of her neck whenever she had felt him near. "Ranger, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> you." She stopped again, in wonder, as Ranger looked up. Still exuding the grace and power of a wild panther, even wearing an orange jumpsuit and with his arms shackled to the steel crossbar on the table. She saw something glimmer in his eyes, like a spark that leapt across the void of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused for a beat, just feeling herself breathe, watching his beautiful, complex, dangerous face. Seeing her missing friend peering from his brown, intense eyes. Then, his lips lifted slightly in an ironic smile she knew so well. Stunned, she suddenly wondered why she had never before seen that this particular smile was a mask. If she ignored it and looked only at his eyes, they were anything but expressionless. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a few seconds that seemed like an eternity, he got his eyes under control and nodded at her. "Steph. It’s been awhile," he paused, his eyes again momentarily at odds with his world-weary, knowing expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised one eyebrow, his barely-there smile intact. “Come to gloat?"</span>
  <em>
    <span><br/>
</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Note: </span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>At the point when this story was written, Val’s fourth child hadn’t been identified in the Evanovich books. I’ve taken the liberty of calling her Sarah. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Out of the Cold</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 2: Out of the Cold</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger looked up when he heard the interrogation room door opening yet again. For a moment he thought he was hallucinating. He had assumed it was another investigator coming to ask him hard-nosed questions he couldn’t answer. But it wasn’t. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When she stood back-lit in the doorway he wasn't sure. But when she started to speak there was nobody else she could be. Stephanie.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a sudden rush of unexpected, conflicting emotions. When he’d known her, she’d been his ray of sunshine in a dark life. She’d smelled like life, like hope. And while she’d exuded innocence, she was comfortable with swindlers, thugs, whores, and bag ladies. She’d made him laugh, which was a rare thing. And, another rare thing: She was completely unpredictable.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her hair still had a mad vitality, even in the harsh light. Her shape was a bit fuller, but she was still the slim feminine presence that he remembered. She smelled like Stephanie. He remembered how that scent had lingered in his apartment, a thin essence evoking temptation and anger long after he discovered that she'd left him completely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Christ, just looking at her he could feel his crotch starting to salute. After all these years he was a goddamn Pavlov's dog. It wasn’t like he'd been celibate since she ran away from Trenton. Hell, he might have slowed down a bit while she’d ping-ponged back and forth between him and the cop, but even then he hadn't waited around like some lovesick teenager for her to get her shit straight. And then she’d left.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But now, fuck it. All these years, ditched and presumably supplanted, his body still rose to her. As he schooled his expression, he pondered that the rumor was actually true, that she was in Boston. And, he couldn’t help but wonder: Why the hell was she here? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his lips twitch in an ironic smile, "Steph," he paused, while watching her reaction. "It's been awhile.” He couldn’t interpret her expression. He reflected sourly that she’d chosen tonight as the first time to see him in years. She’d waited until he was filthy, shackled in jail. Perhaps that evened the playing field for her. Maybe she could finally feel better than him. “Come to gloat?" he asked, following that line of thought.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood for a moment and then walked into the room. Pulling out the metal chair across from him with a scrape against the floor, she sat down and looked at him. Her eyes were still as startlingly blue as ever. Her expressive face reflected a shy surprise, but not shock. No disdain. Well, he could play this out to see where it went.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"No, Ranger," she answered simply. "When did I ever gloat at your misfortune?" She paused briefly. Then, when he just kept staring at her, she continued, "I came to see if it was true that you were here and if there's anything I can do to help."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Not unless you brought me a lockpick." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled briefly at that. “Ranger, I work for the Boston PD, which is why I was able to come in to see you tonight. Lockpicks really aren’t standard issue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Frowning slightly, he asked, “You’re a cop, now?” At that, she laughed, but he could immediately tell that she wasn’t mocking him. Well, it was an amusing thought. Though she was more than handy with a stun gun</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>and a frighteningly good shot with a real gun when backed into a corner</span>
  <span>—</span>
  <span>she was truly squeamish around guns and blood. Despite himself, he mused that she did look good with handcuffs on her belt.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Ranger, I’m a community liaison. I try to help keep the officers on friendly terms with the neighborhoods, and to keep people out of jail in the first place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So, why are you here?” He slouched back as far as he could, stretching the shackles. “You’re a bit late to keep me out of jail.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still calm, she answered, “I told you, Ranger. I came to see if there’s anything I can do to help. The story I heard about your capture doesn’t sound right, so I wonder if there’s anything you need me to check.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once again, he was left speechless by this woman. For the past five hours he’d been saying that he’d been framed. No amount of logic or alternative scenarios had swayed the parade of increasingly skeptical detectives. And he was not at liberty to disclose his employer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unbidden, he had sudden memories of the times he’d called upon her for help, in the past. When framed for murder, when his business was hacked, and when other less-visible events happened and he simply needed her distraction to wash away the darkness from his soul. He’d carefully packed away those memories and frankly had begun to doubt them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, here Stephanie sat, looking at him with certainty in her vivid eyes, telling him that she immediately understood that the setup was all wrong. Offering help because she had it to give. He took a deep breath and decided to take a leap of faith. After all, he’d told his story to several people already this evening. Stephanie actually might listen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re right, Steph, I was set up.” He looked at her, challenging, but she just nodded at him to continue. “I’ve been chasing this guy, Mateus Figueroa, from state-to-state for almost two months. It started as a request to track down a man for a custody kidnapping. The police weren’t inclined to pursue him due to jurisdictional issues. But, it just doesn't track.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head, reviewing the situation in his mind. “Why would a Brazilian on an expired green card travel from Galveston Texas to Puerto Rico to kidnap his sons from school, and then go to Portland, Maine, of all places? And then go to Fall River? And then to Boston?” As he spoke, she scooted forward on her chair, obviously interested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He continued, “I keep asking myself: Why not just hop a fishing boat from the west coast of Puerto Rico to the Dominican Republic, where he could’ve made his way to Brazil any number of ways?” He took a breath and leaned forward. “Outside of the U.S. we’d have the devil’s own time trying to get custody of the kids in any legal way. Since the divorced wife is technically an Algerian citizen and the boys were born outside the U.S. it’s not even clear that the U.S. would have jurisdiction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he paused, she nodded at him. “Yeah, Ranger, I see what you mean. If it were me, my first priority would be to go somewhere where nobody could get me or the kids. So, his travel isn’t about sheltering his kids from the system.” He nodded, glad she understood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then she took it to the next step, surprising him yet again. “Ranger, he took his kids for a different reason. It’s like he’s keeping his assets close while he does his business.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He leaned forward over the table, looking directly into her eyes. “Yeah, Steph, it’s exactly like that. I’m concerned because, while I’ve been chasing this guy, I’ve run into a couple of similar stories of people with expired green cards or student visas suddenly vanishing with one-or-more family members. I’ve raised flags where I can, but now I’m out of commission.” He shrugged his hands, pulling against the restraining bar with a clank of his shackles. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could see her thinking about what he’d said, and could practically see the smoke coming from her ears. Finally she looked back up at him. “Ranger, do you have any notes or paperwork? I could look in online for links or other trails to follow. If we find this guy, we probably find who put you in that stolen car and can clear you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Unfortunately, all my stuff was in my truck when I went into that neighborhood bodega, which is where I must have gotten nabbed.” He grimaced at having made such a rookie mistake. Maybe it was time to re-think his recent habit of working without backup. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It had been a liberating feeling, being back on his own the past several years. Working with people he hired for the job, he could also be free of them when needed. He had truly chafed at working within the rigid backup system that he and Tank had created at Rangeman. In fact, that was part of why he’d eventually sold his interest in the company. It felt too much like the Army, with all the constraints of working in chain-of-command and needing to document variances from operating procedures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He preferred freelancing, and frankly the associated adrenaline rush. He could use his intuition and speed to their best advantage. But, his backup on his past few jobs had been sketchy, leading to an unnecessary shoot-out on the prior job, and now his arrest on this one. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Christ. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Well, better to deal with the cold hard facts.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steph was nodding at him, so he made himself add in a matter-of-fact voice, “My wallet and keys were missing when I was picked up, and of course the writ of fugitive apprehension and my BEA license are missing, too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shook his head. If he weren’t in lockup with strong circumstantial evidence pointing to a murder charge, his lack of wallet and credentials wouldn’t stop him. But, unless he wanted to be on the run for the next forty years, he needed to deal with the current charges. What a fuck-up.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he reviewed his situation, Stephanie was also clearly thinking. “Ranger, where was this bodega? And why did you go inside?” He looked up at her. She had a gift for asking the right questions.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’d gotten a lead that Figueroa had been seen there, and I saw someone who looked like him through the window. Of course, now I figure that the lead was planted.” She nodded at him to continue. “It was some little cross street off Harvard Avenue in Allston.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted. “Figures you lost him in Allston.” She apparently saw his suddenly icy glare. “Oh, don’t worry Ranger. That’s a great neighborhood for misplacing multi-cultural perps. You’re not the first, by any means.” She pulled out her phone while still talking, and started to type. “Tell me the names of the people I should look for, or places like that bodega that might be of interest.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, can you do that without getting into trouble?” He felt a flash of gratitude for the offer of help, but he remembered that Stephanie would unconsciously cross boundaries and endanger herself to help people. Despite their past, or maybe because of it, he didn’t want to give her another reason to resent him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Ranger.” She looked up at him and smiled briefly. “I have a bit of a reputation for double-checking stuff that got people in lock-up. So the department has made sure I know how to help my clients without giving them alibis, or a hit list. And without making myself a target.” She smiled again briefly, and finger-waved over her shoulder. “Besides, I’m sure they’re watching us. If I were crossing the line they’d come in the room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, his lips twitching into a brief smile in reply. Then, back to business, he began reeling off several names and locations from memory, helping her with spelling as she typed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she finished, she looked back up at him. “So, Ranger, I have about ten minutes more. If I bail you out, are you going to run?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He raised his eyebrow in sardonic amusement. “No need, Steph. I’m here until tomorrow morning, but Les Sebring knows a bail bondsman in the area who will come by then.” Ranger decided not to tell her that Sebring’s colleague had actually already been at the station an hour ago and ran into a couple of obstacles to bailing him out. He was guardedly hopeful for the morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, is there anything else?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought about it, but really there was only one thing he wanted to ask. Now that he finally had the chance, he figured he might as well. Steeling himself, he stared at her, his face blank. “Only one thing. Why are you here?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stared at him in what looked like confusion, then concern. Just when he’d decided she wouldn’t answer at all, she blurted, “Jeez, did you get a concussion or something? I found out you were in jail and I wanted to see if you needed anything. Maybe I should call a doctor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I mean, why are you in Boston instead of Trenton?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” she paused. “It’s complicated.” She settled back in her chair, crossing her arms. “Do you really want to know?” She looked at him a bit belligerently. At his single, affirmative nod, she took a breath and continued. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Where to start? Well… since you were out of town, incommunicado for like a year when it happened, I don’t know what you heard. But, pretty much, it was one of those things where everything bad happens at once. The main thing is that Val and Albert were killed in a car crash, which is when we found out they’d named me as the sole guardian for all four of their daughters. Why my sister thought that was a good idea, I'll never know because I can't ask her."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head, took a breath and continued, “Anyway, I didn't know what to do. Val's house was a rental. They could barely afford it, and I certainly couldn’t. I mean, it was okay to live hand-to-mouth when it was just me, but suddenly I had four kids depending on me and my income. One was just a baby. And you know my relatives; they weren't very helpful.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a small, uncharacteristically ironic smile, she added, “Out of all my cousins, only Vinnie actually offered practical help, though it was so dodgy I took a pass. Mary Lou and Joe were really the people who helped day-to-day, but they had their own family obligations. I couldn’t take advantage of that forever. Lula was an amazing help while she was around, but she’d taken that out-of-town job so couldn’t stay. And my dad… well, my dad tried to help, but honestly he was a basket case for awhile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie looked up, her eyes momentarily unguarded. “You probably don’t know this either. My mom had a massive heart attack a couple of months after Val was gone. Hypertension, stress… it was like the final blow and it took awhile for Dad to rebound. In fact, he lived with us for almost two years before he was ready to get back on his feet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she paused, Ranger wasn’t sure he wanted her to continue. It was mind-boggling to hear what she had gone through, and to realize he hadn’t really known any of it. In his mind, sitting here, he still called her “Babe” after all this time. How the fuck had he not known this? He’d been away from Trenton for a year while all this happened; not a lifetime. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was damned sloppy. It was almost six years ago, but he still remembered returning to Trenton, back from his CIA gig and feeling full of himself. On his first and only visit to Vinnie’s bonds office, Connie told him that Joe had recently married someone else and that Stephanie had left town. He'd just assumed those events were related, and angrily concluded that she’d rather leave Trenton than have only Ranger in her life, with nobody to whom she could flee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d asked Tank if he knew what happened to Stephanie, but Tank just shrugged and said she’d moved. Yeah, Ranger had thought, “no price” and so no obligations either. After all, he’d left town for a year to get a fresh perspective. Well then, she’d left for good, for her own reasons. Ranger told Tank to have Binkie continue picking up the skip paperwork; Ranger was out of that duty for good. No reason to put up with Vinnie just to hang out with Connie and her goddamn nail polish. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, he’d gotten drunk a couple of times, thrown himself back into his work, and then eventually sold his interest in Rangeman when he’d realized that the “work” wasn’t giving him any reasons to stay. But, what he hadn’t done was any independent investigation of Stephanie’s situation. He had come back to Trenton to reclaim his life. She was out of his life; case closed. It had seemed so logical, so “over it all” and goddamn mature.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd separately heard that Stephanie's sister had died but he hadn't related that to her leaving town. He hadn’t even heard about her mother. Disgusted with his carelessness, with that many loose ends, he began to suspect he hadn’t been quite as refreshed by his year’s absence from Trenton as he’d imagined.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, in retrospect it was no surprise that he hadn’t gotten any of this from his guys at Rangeman. They probably hadn’t even paid attention to her in his year-long absence. She’d amused them all, but she never stayed around Rangeman long enough to become one of the team. And frankly, Ranger knew she was considered the boss's special piece of ass. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, she was funny and kind. But, he’d heard their complaints too. Stephanie was a thorn in Tank’s staffing rotation, the reason for Bobby to restock his medical supplies faster than usual, and the cause for Lester having to pick up last-minute assignments when Ranger went AWOL on Stephanie-watch. Her main saving grace was proving that kids had robbed their accounts, though he’d heard the rumble that the owner of a security company should have figured that out by himself if he’d been paying attention to his own company.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of which probably meant that Stephanie had ratcheted immediately to the bottom of their list of concerns when he’d told them, before he'd left, that he was backing away from her. That he wasn’t willing anymore to pay the ever-increasing price for always rescuing another man’s woman. And that as long as he was in town, he’d keep trying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, he had signed up for the CIA project that would take him away, out of contact for over a year. He felt a pulse of fury run through him, and then realized the whole mess was nobody's fault but his own. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stephanie had resumed talking, her voice still calm but with a challenging edge. “So anyway, that’s when Albert’s parents swooped in and offered to let me have Mrs. Kloughn’s old family home, a three-decker here in Boston, which they’d been renting-out. We live in the top apartment. It’s actually in Jamaica Plain and really close to where they live, now that they’re retired. So Mrs. Kloughn helps with the girls after school and on weekends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She uncrossed her arms, settling her elbows on her thighs. As she loosely laced her fingers together, she added, “They wanted to be active in Lisa's and Sarah's lives, since they were Albert’s daughters, but also wanted all four girls to feel they were still a family." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, and Ranger saw her shift in the metal chair. "I still wasn’t going to move here, but then Joe came back from community outreach training. He'd brokered an interview for me with the Boston PD. A real job with a salary and benefits.” Ranger heard the pride in her voice as she added, “I make enough that I have a savings account with actual money in it, and college funds for the girls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watched, she shrugged slightly. Then, her chin came up, her shoulders relaxed, and her face cleared. It was the Stephanie Plum transformation. He’d seen it many times before and it never failed to amaze him how quickly she could re-set. Still trying to process everything she’d said, he was mesmerized.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that brief pause, she looked back up at him, her blue eyes as clear as a child’s. With an almost shy expression, she said, “But, Ranger, that’s all old news. I almost never tell people because it sounds overwhelming when I relate it one event after another. People always get all freaked out, like it just happened yesterday. But it’s almost seven years behind us, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged again, “And, you know I certainly wouldn’t have chosen things to happen the way they did. Not at all. But, life is good now.” A quick smile chased across her features as she added, “The girls are amazing; Angie’s actually in college if you can believe that. Dad is back in Trenton to live near his brother and sisters—Boston was just too lonely for him all day long—and just last weekend he asked Ellie Cranshaw from his sister’s canasta club for a date.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger sat motionless watching Stephanie, evaluating the ways he'd let his emotions sideswipe his rational thought. That had always been his personal danger where Stephanie was involved. When she was in Trenton, he'd risked his life and his comrades' respect to keep her safe, despite his better judgment. After she'd left, he'd thought he was thinking clearly again. Apparently, though, he'd fooled himself into thinking that her absence was a reaction to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, time to be a goddamn man. “I'm sorry, Steph,” he gazed into her eyes, attempting to keep his thoughts masked. She was a good guesser, and at the moment he wasn't inclined to share the confused thoughts he harbored. He was unaccustomed to discussing emotions. He'd rather get into a fistfight any day. But, he also knew a story like hers always cost the person telling it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted his gaze minutely to focus over her shoulder and added, “I didn't know you'd had it that rough.” It felt like he was back in confession, as a child, and waiting to hear his penance.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he was startled to hear her snort. "Ranger, one of these days you'll figure out that you can use the phone to keep in touch with people, rather than just for status and orders. Then you’ll know what’s going on in their lives." It was such a quick answer that he guessed she’d wanted to say that for a long time. Fair enough. He focused back on her, his face blank, not sure what he was going to see. He was confused when she laughed; an oddly melodic sound in the sterile room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then she added quietly, “And, if you ever do figure that out, maybe call me because you changed your phone number and I have no way to contact you. You sold your building in Trenton, so the only address I have for you is that stupid vacant lot.” She tipped her head, a rueful look on her face. “And apparently the only way I can find you is if you’re in jail.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, the door to the room clanged and the duty officer told them that time was up. Steph stood, and then apparently noticed the gauze and bandaging on his hands for the first time. “You’re hurt,” she said, a look of concern on her face as she reached down to touch one of Ranger’s shackled hands. He felt her touch like an arc of static electricity that dashed from his hand, up his arm, and down his spine with a momentary shiver. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s nothing, Steph. Just bandages. They already took care of it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She looked at him a moment longer, searching for something in his face. Finally, she lifted her hand. “I’ll look at those names, Ranger, and let you know what I see.” Then she paused and tilted her head, humor glinting from her eyes. “Unlike some people, I’m in the phonebook, so you can find me. And the BPD has me on speed-dial.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know, Steph.” He knew that was an inadequate reply, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He realized, though, that he felt a guarded optimism for the first time since he’d woken up in the stolen car. With no inflection to confuse his message, he stated, “Thank you,” and looked at her directly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Of course Ranger,” she smiled, patted the unbandaged part of his hand one more time and then turned to leave the room. Ranger watched the sway of her hips as she walked away, that timeless movement that embodied unconscious feminine grace. Stephanie’s grace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the guards entered the room and unshackled him for the trip back to the cellblock, Ranger mused that he had never met anyone who could so completely turn his world upside down as Stephanie Plum.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. All In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 3: All In</b>
</p><p>As she left the interrogation room, Stephanie didn’t know what she was feeling. Seeing Ranger shackled had hurt to the core, but seeing pain reflected in his eyes when he apologized was somehow worse. She had long-ago decided that they had both equally squandered opportunities to remain in touch, or even become closer. </p><p>As the final set of missed opportunities, she had been a fool for simply leaving her Boston address with that big guy, Tank, assuming that Ranger would be in touch. She could have at least written to Ranger while she still had his address; he might have responded. </p><p>At the same time though, if Ranger had wanted to know what was going on in her life, he had been a dope not to call. Her cellphone number hadn’t changed. Joe, Mary Lou, Lula, even Connie knew where to find her. But that was all water under the bridge.</p><p>Finally, after couple of years in Boston, Stephanie had decided she couldn’t fix the past with Ranger. She owed a debt of gratitude to the therapist Mrs. Kloughn had found for her, who had helped Stephanie understand her own heart. It was like how she’d had to stop focusing on Val and her mother. If Stephanie spent her time reviewing what she’d lost and the mistakes they’d all made, what she'd do over if she could, what she’d say now that it was too late…. Well, she’d miss the good that was right in front of her. </p><p>So, she’d made a New Year’s resolution to assume she’d never see Ranger again. It had broken her heart, but nobody knew how to find him anymore. It was just easier than always regretting the past. </p><p>She sighed as she grabbed her coat, purse and keys from the jail’s check-in desk clerk. She couldn’t change what had happened before and neither could Ranger; they could only move forward. She’d been given an unexpected second chance. She hoped she could help him see that, as well, in whatever brief time she had with him. Maybe they could do better this time.</p><p>In the meantime, she had work to do. </p><p>She strode over to Detective Breyer’s desk, thanked him for the time in the interrogation room, and asked him if he could spare any details on the case. She didn’t know him well, but she’d helped him a couple of times with cases where key witnesses had been afraid to testify. So, Stephanie hoped that he was feeling in a reciprocating mood. </p><p>He nodded as he stretched back and motioned to his visitor chair. “Sit down, I’d rather talk to you than most of the fine upstanding citizens I get to see all shift.” He moved an unsteady stack of paper from the corner of his desk to the floor, freeing space in front of her. “Do you believe it? This pile is just from this week.” Straightening back up in his chair, he got right to the point. “So, what did you see? You were the last in the room.”</p><p>“Well,” she thought for a moment as she gazed at Breyer’s tired face, idly noting that the gray threading through his hair seemed more prominent than she’d remembered. “It’s what I <em> don’t </em>see.” Breyer rolled his hand, signaling that she should continue. “I don’t see why someone as careful as Ranger would be caught in a drive-by car, unconscious, without his wallet.” She kept her focus on Breyer’s face. “Do we know who called it in?”</p><p>“It was anonymous, but sounded like a random. Just someone walking through an alley, probably to whizz behind a dumpster.” He narrowed his eyes. “You call him Ranger. Why?” He kept looking at her with a speculative gaze. She could tell he was trying to determine her reliability in this situation and maybe get some additional background on Ranger. She would do the same in his shoes.</p><p>“It’s what I told you on the phone: I knew him back in Trenton. ‘Ranger’ was his street name. He was somebody who always helped me out. Some of the cops didn’t like him because he ignored channels, but I always knew him as an honorable person.” She paused at the flood of memories clamoring for her attention, supporting that claim.</p><p>Breyer nodded slowly. “So, if I hear you right, he’s someone who might ignore the finer points of the law if he felt there was a higher goal.” </p><p>Recognizing the trap, she thought about her answer for a moment. “You know, that’s not something I can speak to. I don’t know first-hand if that’s true or not.” She looked directly into Breyer’s eyes. “What I know is that Ranger was someone who always thought about the consequences. He didn’t do stupid or careless things.” </p><p>She couldn’t help thinking that, in fact, she was the one who always rushed in carelessly, lucky that Ranger could usually rescue her. As though he’d heard her inner dialogue, Breyer nodded and sat forward in his chair. “You want to help him. I get that. Though I personally think you’re soft for trusting someone like him.”</p><p>Keeping his gaze focused on Stephanie, Breyer continued in a quiet yet forceful tone. “Lone wolves like your friend, who you call Ranger, tend to have sides to their personality that they hide from people they want to impress. In my experience, they keep going without input and they eventually cross a line.” He sat back in his chair, again, keeping his gaze on Stephanie, who was thinking about what he said.</p><p>Crossing his arms casually, Breyer added, “But, I’m not going to stop you. I’ve seen you in action and know you have good instincts. And, that you understand the difference between helping a suspect and interfering with a case.”</p><p>Stephanie nodded earnestly. Breyer shifted his body in his chair, letting their silence stretch for a moment. Then, he nodded to himself and pulled a piece of paper up from the top of a second unruly stack of folders on his desk. “So, your friend Ranger has a little problem with his bail.” Breyer slid on a pair of half-rimmed reading glasses and started scanning. </p><p>“It’s a high bail, but I guess that’s not the problem.” He paused, reading further down the note in his hand. “It looks like his bail bondsman came by an hour-or-so ago with the money. But, we’re looking at Mañoso for weapons, drugs, and potential murder charges, not to mention a stolen car. Which means that he can’t be released without someone to provide a local address. And the bondsman wasn’t willing to take that responsibility.” </p><p>Breyer gazed up at Stephanie, his expression deadpan. “If you happen to know anyone in the area who can take him in, pending the hearing, let them know they should be here around 10AM tomorrow.” </p><p>Stephanie smiled, “I’ll be sure to pass that along. Who is the bondsman?” </p><p>He looked down at his notes and, with a wry smile of experience, looked back up. "Stoneman Bonds and Surety."</p><p>"Ah, I know of them. I'll be sure to pass that along, too." She stood up and began to shrug-on her coat. “Thanks again for the favor tonight. I really appreciate it.”</p><p>For the first time that evening, Breyer smiled at her in reply. “You’ve done me plenty of favors over the years. I hope, for your friend’s sake, that your instincts are right on this one.” </p><p>She grinned back at him. “They are.” </p><p>As Breyer laughed, she headed back down the hall and out to the parking lot. She ducked into her car and turned the key. The engine stuttered slowly a few times from the cold, echoing her muttered “come on, come on, come on.” And then it finally started, blowing cold air from the vents. Sitting there, hands under her armpits to keep them warm while she waited for the defrosters to clear the sheen of ice from the front and rear windows, she thought about what Breyer had said. </p><p>She knew that Ranger had a dark side that he never wanted her to see. And, that time had passed since she and Ranger were close. But, she mused that her instincts about people had always been reliable. She couldn’t always tell if people were lying in the moment—she wasn’t a mind reader—but she could tell if people were fundamentally honest. More importantly, she could tell unerringly if their moral compass had taken a nosedive.  </p><p>Even Joe, in his frequently backhanded way, had said that her instincts were frighteningly good. In this case, her instincts were screaming that Ranger was innocent of the charges. They were telling her that he might be more morally battered than when she’d known him, further away from a world of black-and-white, but that still was looking to do the right thing. </p><p>Finally able to see through the car windows, she pulled out of the station lot and headed home. She switched the radio to FM for a change. Then, humming along, she started to think about the names and places Ranger had given her. She knew where she wanted to start looking. The traffic had quieted in the time she’d been at the jail and she was home before she knew it. </p><p>Turning off her car, she looked up at her house from the driveway. Despite the dark night, she could see the path up to her front door, where the porch light welcomed her home. She could see the fern-like tracing of frost along the lower halves of each of the door’s small side-by-side windows. </p><p>Otherwise, It was late enough that most of the other lights in the house were off, even in Mrs. Arshad’s first floor unit. In fact, the only house where people were obviously still awake was the multifamily across the street that was a mirror image of hers, but which had been condo-ized into separate student apartments years ago. </p><p>At the front door, she sorted her keys and opened the main door to the house, and then stepped in as quietly as she could. Avoiding the squeaky board in the entryway, she flipped on the timed light for the inside stairway leading up to her apartment. Once again, she was grateful to Albert’s parents for turning this house over to her so she and the girls would always have a place to live. </p><p>After the Kloughns had moved to a nicer place decades ago, they could have made a small fortune selling it. But they’d saved it for Albert, and then after he died they’d deeded it to Stephanie for the cost of the legal transfer. With a unit downstairs she could rent, and both upper floors as her own apartment, it was the biggest and nicest place she’d ever lived. It was <em> home </em>.</p><p>After climbing to her apartment’s second-floor front door as quietly as she could, trading her coat for a sweater, and making a cup of hot chocolate, she sat down at her laptop. It was late, but her mind was buzzing with possible connections. She picked up her phone to review the first set of names Ranger had given her, and started typing. </p><p>She woke up with sunlight drilling into her eyes. Taking stock, as she sat up blearily, she looked down to see her pages of notes spread on the coffee table, and her laptop on the floor. Reaching up to rub her face, she felt the sofa upholstery pattern on her left cheek and could tell her hair was doing its wild-woman of Borneo thing. She smiled, thinking that was also how she felt this morning. </p><p>Sparing a quick moment in the powder room by the entryway, she washed her face quickly and then went to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. She said a mental “thank you” to Mary Lou as she gazed, eyes dull, waiting for the cup to finish brewing. The mini-Keurig coffeemaker had been last year’s truly-inspired Christmas gift from her and Lenny. </p><p>While she waited, she checked the kitchen clock and saw it was only 6:30 in the morning. She had plenty of time before she needed to call Stoneman Bonds and head to the station for Ranger. Grabbing the coffee, she went back to the livingroom to pull her notes together in the final moments before the girls woke up and the morning officially began. </p><p>As she sipped, she started to see a pattern between a couple of the names Ranger had provided and one she had found last night. She logged into the nationwide search program and started to poke around, only to find that she didn’t have the proper access. Without thinking, she put down her coffee and picked up her phone. </p><p>After the third ring, he picked up. “Morelli,” he ground out, his voice low and scratchy. In the background, she heard Amanda ask, “Joe, who the heck is calling at this hour?” </p><p>“Steph, is that you?” Joe asked, his voice somewhere between a growl and a yawn. </p><p>“Yeah, Joe, I’m really sorry. I forgot how early it is. But, I have a favor to ask.” </p><p>“Of course you do, Steph,” he grumbled, but she could also hear the humor in his voice. “Why do I have the feeling that I’m about to hear the name ‘Ranger’?” She heard him shifting in the background, and could tell from Amanda’s questions that he was probably getting out of bed so he could keep talking without bothering his wife. “And you know, Steph, that’s one of my favorite things to hear first-thing in the morning.” She heard a door close on Joe’s end.</p><p>She grimaced. “Um, you figured that out because you’re Trenton Chief of Detectives and really, really smart….” </p><p>“Uh huh,” he grunted on the other end of the phone. “But flattery isn’t a bad idea, so don’t stop now.” </p><p>“Okay, oh smarter-than-the-average-bear,” she heard him snort on the other end, “here’s the thing. I did look into background on Ranger’s case and there’s something really hinky. When you’re actually awake, can you look up a name for me? I can send you the details, but this guy Brendan Fennelly is one of our fugitives, with a munitions background from working construction.”</p><p>“Wait, Steph. I’m confused. No coffee yet, remember? Why am I looking up information on a Massachusetts perp? I thought this had to do with Mañoso.”  </p><p>“Yeah, Joe. I just get this feeling that he’s an associate of Ranger’s skip. He intersects in a few places, including Galveston Texas where Ranger’s skip lived until recently, and Portland Maine where he knew another munitions guy on Ranger’s list. He’s on the FBI watch list, now, so as a community liaison I don’t have clearance to look. There are a couple of other names too, if you don’t mind.” </p><p>While she waited for Joe to process what she’d said, she took a long sip of coffee, trying hard not to slurp and remind Joe that he didn’t have any.</p><p>Finally he asked, “Next question. Why am I looking this up, instead of one of the detectives in the office there?” </p><p>She nodded, though he couldn’t see her. “Here’s the deal: You know Ranger, so you’ll be able to read between the lines. He’s not your collar, so you don’t have skin in the game to make this be a big arrest.” She paused for a moment, adding “Also, though you don’t like <em> him </em> , you like <em> me </em>, so you’ll look at both sides.”</p><p>She heard him exhale forcefully, “All right, Steph. I’ll look them up. Send the names to my personal email address. It’s not going to be right away, though. Just as a public service reminder, it’s Saturday morning. The weekend.”</p><p>“Thanks Joe. I really owe you.”</p><p>“Well, so far you owe Amanda. But, just be clear that I’m doing this for you, not for Mañoso. And, if you use anything I find, don’t flash my name around. I don’t want to create bad blood between Boston and Trenton by butting in on their case.”</p><p>“I understand Joe. And, thanks again.” After he said goodbye and she hung up, she heard stirring upstairs where the girls’ bedrooms were. Quickly, before they descended, she pulled together her papers and logged off the laptop. She went back to her bedroom, tucked away in the hall beyond the kitchen, and started to get ready for the day. </p><p>It was going to be a long day, she could tell. But she was also hopeful for what it could bring.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>To be continued… </em>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p><em>Notes:</em> As some of you noticed, for this story I’ve gone back to the books to understand the characters. Did you know that, through book #20, Lester Santos and Bobby Brown have really only been in High Five, with only occasional appearances after that? Stephanie mentions Tank a lot, and Hal, but she doesn’t seem particularly close to any of them. And Ranger… what’s up with that man?  He sends at least as many mixed signals as Stephanie. He seems to love and trust her, goes to extreme lengths to rescue her, seduces her with amorous intensity, yet repeatedly lets her go with nary a struggle. </p><p>I guess what I’m saying is that the story of Stephanie, Ranger, and the Merry Men that has evolved in FanFiction, and which I personally favor, isn’t quite *there* in published form. But love need not be constrained by the dictates of past written events. We write the better version; one story, one chapter, and one moment at a time. </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Making It Out</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 4: Making It Out</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger sat on the hard jail cot, his long legs stretched out while he waited for the guards. He figured there was a 50/50 chance that this morning’s attempt at bail would work. He’d given the bail-bondsman, Stony, some names. Since Ranger wasn’t allowed any more phone calls after he was booked, he needed to let Stony make the contacts and work out the logistics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time to see if anyone felt like cashing in a favor for Ranger. It likely wasn’t going to be anyone local. It had been a long time since he’d bought and sold his security office in Boston and he’d never spent much time there anyway. Most of the Army and Rangeman contacts he had from Boston were dispersed across the country; even across the world. He didn’t think Army Ranger Sergeant Riley’s mother-in-law or former Rangemen Brett and Slick’s parents would be showing up to bail him out and give him a place to stay.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the bright, unforgiving light of the cell, he could see a bruise spreading on his right hand. His left hand was slightly worse off, but not bad. He’d peeled back the gauze to check out the butterfly bandages. The knuckles were gashed and swollen but he’d have no trouble using either hand. Beyond that, and the needle mark he’d found in the crook of his elbow, he didn’t see any notable physical damage.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d washed his face and splashed water on his hair for a finger-combing, but imagined he still looked rougher for wear. And, frankly, he smelled of three days without a shower and a night in lock-up. Even better, he knew that the clothes waiting in jail storage were ripped and would smell from the beer spilled on him in the abandoned car. He was going to stink like a goddamn biker bar the morning after a fight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, he’d been in worse situations and usually found ways to turn them to his advantage. He was patient, smart, and cunning. With training and experience. He knew these weren’t boasts; they were facts. So, while he waited, he thought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least his head had cleared. He could tell he’d been tasered, but after that they obviously knocked him out further. Unfortunately he didn’t remember much after opening the bodega door. His injuries told him that he’d punched someone with his right hand and probably banged-up his left while trying to smash someone into a counter or shelf. But he hadn’t fought long enough to take many hits. No real bruises or facial cuts. So it was fast; someone he hadn’t seen. Tasered after only a couple of hits.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As best he could figure, he’d been out for close to ten hours. He suspected ketamine based on the depth of unconsciousness, possibly mixed with barbiturates to explain the duration and the lassitude he felt throughout his body. That would be consistent with his memory lapse and the injection mark, as well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had good resistance to standard drugs, but still knew he was lucky to be alert this morning. Even luckier to be alive. It did, though, leave him with the minor problem that he’d needed to refuse the sobriety needle-stick yesterday. These days, tests could be broad-spectrum and the last thing he needed was to show up with a Class 1 or 2 narcotic in his system.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That meant that, from the very start, circumstantial evidence pointed to the notion that he had passed out, drunk. That he’d become careless. That, like many before him, he’d slipped from being an expert at surveillance and fugitive-return into a cycle of vigilantism and addiction. Ranger himself could name a few men with a similar background who’d gone that way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The detectives who questioned him certainly seemed to believe that theory, as did the night-court judge who’d set his high bail. He would have to overwhelm them with evidence to the contrary. In the time remaining, he would have to solve the case he was on. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he mused, the first step was that Stony needed to get him out on bail. If Ranger were the type of man who rolled his eyes, he’d roll them over Roger Stoneman, a.k.a. Stony. He reminded Ranger of Vinnie Plum, back in the day. He had the same shifty look, and also seemed to have a similar throwback liking for slicked-back hair. He guessed wryly that assholes like Vinnie and Stony explained why he could still find Brylcreem in non-military drugstores. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the theory that Stony could spring him this morning, Ranger needed to figure out logistics. Stony was bringing him a phone and a money order, but he’d need to get his own car. Ranger figured his truck was at a chop-shop by now, and his guns and other equipment on their way to new owners. So, he’d need a gun, a stun-gun, handcuffs…. He’d need to find a pawn shop, ideally in a Latino neighborhood so he could blend in.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, he’d need some goddamn clothes and a safe place to bunk, but those were the least of his problems.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Biggest problem: How did Figueroa know to target him?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Next problem: Was there a relationship between Figueroa and the other men that people had told him were missing? As he’d followed Figueroa’s trail from town-to-town, several people had said they didn’t know Figueroa, but they knew someone else with a similar story. Men with green cards or student visas who’d suddenly disappeared with their families. Men with guns. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>One of the men, Burc Aburek, particularly interested Ranger. Aburek was originally from Turkey, here on the US with a lapsed green card. He’d piqued a couple neighbors’ interest by coming and going with rifles, though he didn’t engage in off-license hunting in the woods to put meat on the family table. He’d taken his wife and daughter, disappearing overnight from Portland, Maine.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was within a week of when Figueroa had been in Portland. Nobody had reported Aburek missing; his neighbors saw them move out and he simply failed to appear at his under-the-counter restaurant job the next day.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had passed his name to Stephanie along with a couple of others whose stories also stood out for Ranger. Those men—particularly Mirko Krc from Turkish Armenia and Amadeo Djaleo from Trinidad—were long shots. But somehow related to the pattern. And now at least Ranger wasn’t the only person who knew all of their names. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which reminded him of Stephanie’s visit last night. As he’d awakened this morning with his head pounding, he imagined he’d dreamt of her. That is, until he realized that Stephanie in his dreams was never any older than the day they’d met. And she was never dressed in jeans. Typically she was in a distraction dress, in a T-shirt sleeping in her bed, or naked in his. It could have been a hallucination, but given the vivid dreams he still had occasionally, why would he hallucinate that all she did was </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>with him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, his dreams hardly ever included that odd </span>
  <em>
    <span>frisson</span>
  </em>
  <span> of electricity he remembered from her touch. Over time, he'd convinced himself that he had just been misremembering something more mundane, like the pulse in his dick when she was near. Last night, though, he'd felt it again. It made him remember the time he'd investigated whether she had a pacemaker that was malfunctioning. But no, apparently not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, he could only conclude that she’d actually been here last night. Which was disorienting on multiple levels. To keep focus, he thought about whether he should take her up on her offer to look into his missing men. He truly could use the help. Since he was working this case off-the-records, he lacked the access required to conduct the electronic searches that he needed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d taken this one as a favor—and a challenge. One of the few FBI contacts who Ranger still enjoyed working with, Tino Clark, had met Ranger over lunch. Discussing the Figueroa case, Clark indirectly indicated that there seemed to be something deeper behind the Figueroa case than a simple parental abduction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>According to Clark, the case was being pursued with a curious lack of fervor. Further, his questions had been shut down at higher levels. Clark was looking for independent verification to bypass the block he’d run into. After a brief, seemingly diversionary discussion of the two most recent career-making cases Ranger had solved, Clark had asked casually whether Ranger was up for the challenge of tracking Figueroa under the table. And whether Ranger could make his pursuit look solely like a missing children’s case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger knew that Clark was playing to his vanity. However, the money was good and Ranger was between projects. And, more importantly, the more Clark had described the scenario, the more Ranger agreed that something sounded "off." Now he was sure of it, since he hadn’t received any return calls from Clark since the first time he'd phoned-in names of additional vanished men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was pretty much on his own. After he was someplace secure, he’d call Steph and find out if she’d found something. If so, she was done. If not, he’d tell her to stop looking. That was safest for her. And, then he could start trying to put her back into the attic of his memories. She had always fascinated and confused him, keeping him off-balance but always drawn back for more, like an addict.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And like any addiction, cold turkey left him with a sizeable dose of anger, which he now could see had distorted his perceptions for years. He couldn’t afford to have anyone in his thoughts who could so thoroughly disrupt his ability to see straight. This morning his traitorous imagination had spun visions of Stephanie back in his life. Of him calling her from the road, and then stopping over at her place to be greeted with her amazing, accepting smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was surprised he didn’t visualize himself helping her bake cookies or mow the goddamn lawn. Not only did he need to relegate thoughts of Steph back to that mental attic, he needed to throw away the key. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He also needed some goddamn breakfast. By his calculations it had been at least 30 hours since he’d eaten. He could control it, but the mild hypoglycemia that ran through his family had begun to surface over the past few years. He was starting to feel a hint of dizziness; the last thing he needed was to sound confused. Or, to pick a pointless fight like an old boxer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was starting to get difficult to hide his impatience when finally the door to the cell block opened and the morning guard came in. "Looks like you'll have to leave our four-star accommodations," the guard deadpanned as he unlocked the cell door. "I'm gonna take you down to the sign-out desk where you can pick up your stuff. There's a bathroom just outside that door, next to the bubbler, where you can change back to your street clothes." The cell door clanged closed behind them as the guard led him out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Then, you’ll go through the outer door and your parties will be waiting in the lobby." The guard unlocked the section door with the sound of metal grating on metal, and started walking him down the hall. "Of course, now you know what a fine place we run here, I won't be surprised to see you again, just for that nice city-supplied mattress. You look like someone who's accustomed to establishments like ours."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger fought his mounting annoyance as he stopped at the check-out desk to sign the discharge forms and pick up his itemized belongings from the bin. Clothes, boots, soggy roll of Mentos mints, the lockpick set that looked like a hairpick, and the laminated pocket map of Boston he'd picked up a couple days ago. No wallet, no watch, no money clip, no keys, no phone. No guns, no knives, no cuffs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, dammit, no coat or gloves, either. The goddamn punks who’d grabbed him had been thorough. Well, he’d make use of that money-order that Stony should be bringing. He'd already turned to leave when the woman behind the Property Release desk told him to wait. She handed him a pair of clean sweatpants and a sweatshirt, saying they had been brought for him this morning. She also handed him a plastic garbage bag to hold anything he wanted to carry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He locked himself in the bathroom on the other side of the water fountain and quickly changed clothes, dropping the orange jumpsuit into the bin by the door. He managed a quick clean-up at the sink, then pulled on the sweats along with his socks and boots. The sweatpants were loose enough so he could walk around without looking indecent and was surprised that the sweatshirt was almost too big. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A gray hoodie with Boston College Eagles spelled across the front in large cracked letters, it smelled vaguely of Polo aftershave, of all things. It was large enough that he was able to pull the sleeves down over the tops of his hands, mostly covering the loosened gauze over the stitches on his left one. No need to broadcast his injuries after he walked out the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stuffing his own filthy clothes into the plastic bag, he took a final look in the mirror. No wonder the young woman at the property release window had been more skittish than flirtatious. Between the shadow of his beard and his expression, he looked like fury on legs. Sardonically, surprising himself with the thought, he wondered what Steph would think if she saw him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a deep breath and smoothed out his expression before walking out of the bathroom and through the door to the lobby. At which point, he immediately spotted Stony standing next to—oh crap—Stephanie. What the hell? He was sure he’d shown no reaction, though he'd felt himself tense. This wasn’t how he’d planned it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she smiled at him and held out a couple of granola bars and a bottle of water. “Hi Ranger, I know they changed their protocols so they don’t bother feeding people who are going to be released in the morning, anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, she worked for the cops. She’d know about jail routines. He fought back the sudden, surprising twinge of disappointment that she didn’t actually know he was hungry as a remnant of the special, uncanny awareness of him she’d always seemed to have.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded his thanks and began opening a granola bar. “Whole Foods, Steph? No TastyKakes?” He took a bite. It was sweeter than he usually preferred, but right now that wasn’t bad. He took another bite, and was halfway through the first bar already.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled. “It may be cold out, but I checked and Hell hasn't frozen over yet. So, I figured you’d probably still prefer granola bars. Those are actually from the Food Co-op, but they're pretty good,” she continued as she passed him the water bottle, “I still do order cases of TastyKakes off Amazon. Two signs that Boston isn’t the center of the universe that they like to think: Number one is that normal stores don’t sell TastyKakes, and number two is that people don't know that ‘the higher the hair, the closer to God’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger felt a moment of inner amusement as Stony looked askance at Steph. Welcome to the world of Stephanie Plum, Ranger thought to himself. He'd forgotten about the unusual way that she processed the world on-the-fly and then shared her inner life with everyone nearby. He wished for a moment that he could keep that in his life without the emotional pull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he banished that wish; he was here to finish a job, not to be back in Steph’s life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing before finishing the second granola bar, Ranger took a sip of water. He was feeling steady again. Ready to get his show on the road. “Thanks Steph.” he said, looking to give her closure on their interaction before he moved forward. “Stony, besides the sweats, what else have you got?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The clothes are courtesy of Ms. Plum, though I brought you a coat and a backpack,” Stony answered, his nasal voice surprisingly high-pitched for his girth, which was classic middle-aged spread. Ranger shook out the coat—an Army surplus pea coat—and put it on while Stony pulled out a phone and an envelope. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I got you an unlocked GSM cell phone, so you can change the memory card and caller identity as needed, with $200 in minutes and a data plan that's good through the end of the month." Ranger was watching him, rather than looking at the phone, and noticed that Stony was sweating despite the cold. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After opening the envelope and quickly scanning the money-order, Ranger locked his unblinking gaze back on Stony. "This is much less than I specified," he said in a low, measured voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Don't give me that look. That's what's left over from Sebring's advance, plus an advance from me." Stony looked around for eavesdroppers, then continued more quietly. "Your former business partner hasn’t returned my call yet. Your broker said he can't get at the funds you identified until Monday due to a bank holiday. He also said you have to call him before he’ll wire it, because you explicitly told him never to advance money without verifying your voice on the line."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger began to see the problem with how secure he’d made his most liquid assets; they were protected even from him. He nodded. He'd make do with this for now. He’d gotten by on far less on missions back in the Army.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, Mañoso,” Stony continued, “this is where I tell you that you are legally obligated by the state of Massachusetts to attend your hearing later this month. You have the date. And if you don't show, the bail bond is forfeit and assets put up for collateral become property of Stoneman Bail and Surety.” He paused, with a faintly calculating look. “So, this is your chance to stick it to Sebring if you're gonna, but I'd advise strongly against it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Buttoning his coat, Stony added, “You look all stone-cold Scarface and all. But, in my experience Sebring is too, he just goes to a classy barber and always dresses like he's headed to a Rotary Club awards lunch.” With that, he pulled on some gloves and headed toward the exit. “Just do us all a frickin’ favor and show up at your pre-trial hearing,” he called out through the revolving door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"So Ranger," Stephanie pulled his baleful attention away from the door. "Stony thought you didn’t already have a place to stay, since you didn’t have a local address in your paperwork. If that’s true, you can stay at my house. There’s a den with a fairly new sofa bed; my dad says it’s fairly comfortable." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Steph, I don't think that's a good idea." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"An answer that confirms that you don't actually have a place to stay, so you're coming home with me."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel his eyebrow rising; had his deflections always been that transparent to her? "Steph, whoever got to me this time was a pro; I didn’t see it coming. Having me at your house isn't safe."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"I've thought about that, Ranger, and here’s what I think. If the person who nabbed you wanted you dead, they’d have killed you and left you in that car." She put her hands on her hips. "So they don’t want you dead, just out of the way, somehow. Or, maybe to have your reputation tarnished." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had come to that conclusion, also, during his long night on the jail's hard bed. But, that didn't mean he needed charity. Nor did he particularly need the temptation he remembered from times they’d stayed together in the past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"You really don't need to bring me home, Steph. All I need is a cheap motel."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Ranger, you're family. Of course you're coming home with me. Besides, I just signed a ton of paperwork that lists me as your contact and guarantor, so it kinda makes sense that you'd stay with me." She looked down and pulled her keys from her purse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger felt like a fool; his heart had actually tumbled a beat when she'd said he was family. He remembered that he'd always had difficulty staying logical around her. To get back on track, he squared his shoulders and started thinking about his options. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opportunistically, given his current cash situation, it made sense to stay with Steph. He’d do it if this were someone like Tank or his old Ranger buddy Kinsey. Someone with whom he had a history of trust, even if they weren’t particularly close at this point. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His gut told him to trust Steph in this, as he had many times in their past life together. His mind said it was dangerous for her, while his heart.... Well, that wasn't a part of his anatomy he should let guide his actions. It didn't get nearly enough use, and it was historically bad at judgment calls. Along with another part of his anatomy that was threatening to rise to the argument. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he wrestled with his thoughts, Stephanie started zipping her coat. “Okay, Ranger, get over yourself. You’re coming home with me. You can shower there, and make phone calls if you need. Then we can get you some clothes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Staring blankly at her while she put her hands on her hips and glared back at him, Ranger thought the expression "get over yourself" was startlingly apt. Reluctantly, he acknowledged the sense in her argument and nodded. He followed Steph outside into the cold, glad of the knit watch cap he found in the pocket of the pea coat Stony had brought. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie beeped open the doors of a battered green Subaru SUV. Ranger noted that it had some rust, and one of the doors was blue. But otherwise it wasn’t in bad shape. She’d driven worse. Out of habit, he pulled the passenger door open for her, but she continued to the driver’s side without pausing. Amused despite himself, he angled himself into the passenger seat. It was proof that there was a first time for everything, including having Steph be in charge of the car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stephanie turned the key, the radio blared to life, air gusted from the dashboard vents, and the engine rumbled like a boat’s outboard motor. As she swatted off the radio and fan, Ranger commented, “Nice car.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah. Everyone’s a smarty pants on Saturday morning,” she mumbled as she backed out of the spot and headed to the parking lot gate. She opened her window and tapped a pass to open the gate. “Ranger, you can make fun of my car if you want, but notice that I actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> a car and you don’t.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Babe, it’s a good car, just a little loud.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He noticed her hesitate, and her eyes swiveled toward him. Belatedly, he realized that he’d called her “Babe” out of habit. Something about being together in the car had short-circuited his thinking and it seemed natural. He braced for her to object to his use of the nickname after all this time, but she just looked back at the road.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is a good car, you’re right. I bought it used from a guy at work and I’ve had it for almost five years.” She looked out the left window and gunned the accelerator. As she swerved into traffic, Ranger restrained the urge to reach for the grip handle above the door. Amused at his own reaction, he wryly considered that Steph probably wouldn’t be thrilled to see him reach for the “oh shit” bar as she drove. He did, though, surreptitiously double-check that his seatbelt was fastened. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, anyway, Ranger. I wasn’t sure where you stood clothes-wise, so I borrowed a couple pairs of sweatpants and shirts from my neighbor Darius. We can wash your existing clothes, but if everything was in your truck I'm guessing you'll need more. Darius gave me the name of the local big-and-tall men’s shop where he goes, so we can go there later today if you want. Or Macy’s, Footlocker, or Walmart. You tell me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We'll see. Probably the highest priority is to get a car." He pulled out the phone Stony had delivered and started looking online to check what his options were for getting a replacement driver's license over the weekend. Obviously he could obtain and drive a car without one. Or, he could get one of his false-identity driver’s licenses overnighted to him. But, with his current legal situation he figured that getting his real license replaced was a better option. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“While we were waiting for you to be released,” Steph said, while slowing for a red light, “I snared a copy of the police report where you reported your wallet and driver’s license stolen, and I made sure it was officially on-file in the right system.” She looked at him, briefly, after stopping for the light. “So you can file that with your state’s Department of Motor Vehicles.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, realizing that he should have thought of that at the station, and looked back at the website on his phone. Having that form made this process easier. He could file online, but he’d have to overnight-mail the police form to New York, and then if all things worked right the DMV would overnight his new license to him. So, he was looking at Tuesday or Wednesday. Crap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He couldn’t rent a car without a license. So he’d have to use a fair amount of his money on a no-paperwork junk car until then. Of course he could steal one. Ironically, his best bet would be to break into the police impound and steal a car that had obviously been sitting there awhile. After they finally found him, though, he imagined he’d be in an orange jumpsuit for the better part of his adult life. That wasn’t going to happen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, dammit, he already knew that his convenience accounts at Bank of America, RBS, CathayBank and Santander wouldn’t be available to him until he got either a driver’s license or a passport. This wasn’t Switzerland, where a retina scan and fingerprint match would do the trick. He ran through his mental inventory of which aliases went to what accounts, and how much money he had available in each one. Then, he reviewed which IDs were readily available to someone other than him. Crap, he was going to have to call in another favor.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he mulled over his immediate next steps, Stephanie pulled into a driveway and shut off the car. “We’re here Ranger, follow me,” she said, opening her door. She stepped out of the car and hitched her purse on her shoulder in a gesture that Ranger remembered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he got out of the car, he looked up; he’d seen this type of house as he’d driven around town. Brown and beige, it looked like three large, flat houses had been stacked on top of each other sometime in the 1920s. Each storey had a front door and covered porch, one right on top of the other. As they went up the sidewalk, though, he could tell that only the first floor door was an exit to the street. He felt himself relax slightly as he spotted the passageway for a rear staircase peeking around the back corner of the house</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She keyed them into the front door, which opened to a vestibule with a decorative locked inner door and a staircase, carpeted with a runner. As Ranger looked around the small entry space, Stephanie took a step up the stairway. She looked back at him and gestured with her head for him to follow. “C’mon Ranger, it’s upstairs. I have a tenant, Mrs. Arshad, who lives in the first floor apartment. The owner’s unit, where we live, is on the second and third floors.” Stephanie continued up the slightly creaky stairs to a short landing, where she unlocked another door and led them into a sunlit livingroom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger followed her in, silently cataloging the room. He hadn't known what to expect, but it felt oddly like home even while he felt his shoulders tense at being in an unknown space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stephanie went to turn off the alarm, he noted the layered scent of cooking, a row of hooks by the door covered with coats of varying styles and sizes, a nondescript sofa and loveseat around a coffee table with a few other chairs of varying styles, a flat-screen TV, school photographs on the mantle, stacks of books and paper, a couple of laptops, and a dining table just visible around a corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought he remembered the 1950’s style half-height chest and the flanking wing chair from the Plum’s home back in Trenton. It was like walking into a memory that he’d never had. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The beeping of the alarm silenced, Stephanie put down her purse and shrugged out of her unzipped coat. As she hung it on an empty hook by the door, she turned back to Ranger with a smile. He saw pride, mischief and amusement in her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt a pang of surprise as he remembered that look. It was the same one he’d seen after she’d brought in her first FTA when he was moonlighting as Henry Higgins to her Eliza. When the little, fearless lingerie buyer had brought in Joe Morelli—an experienced, intelligent cop—all by herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie said, her arm extending to encompass the lived-in space around her, her eyes gleaming. “Welcome home.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Settling In</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 5: Settling In</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here Ranger, the den is back through the kitchen,” Stephanie said as she led Ranger through her house. As she walked, she was imagining what he was seeing. This was nothing like the modern, peaceful space he'd created for himself back at his Rangeman building at Haywood. Probably it felt chaotic, even though she'd had a whirlwind tidying session this morning before dropping off the girls with the Kloughns for the day. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reflected that her home was also different from her old apartment in Trenton, where she'd lived back when she'd felt close to Ranger. For one thing, it was at least four times larger inside. There were absolutely no avocado appliances or bathroom fixtures. And, it had real furniture; a blend of what she’d acquired on her own, a few pieces donated by the Kloughns, and what her dad had shipped them after selling the house back in Chambersburg.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a grown-up home. She realized, with a start, that she was comfortable with being the actual grown up in that home. Something to think about.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw him scanning the dining room, taking in the big table arrayed with homework and the home-office mess on the credenza. She looked for a reaction as he followed her into the surprisingly large kitchen with its reasonably up-to-date appliances, waiting for a barb about her cooking abilities. However, his face was the blank mask she remembered from when she'd first met him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Probably he was just mapping escape routes and possible weapons in case international terrorists invaded her house. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On reflection, though, she realized that this situation might be even more peculiar for Ranger than for herself. She’d immediately started planning for him to be here after Detective Breyer had outlined Ranger's problem with his bond. Ranger, however, was far from home and strangely alone. He padded after her with the measured steps of a feral cat who'd been lured inside by a now-suspicious saucer of milk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Remembering that her chatter had sometimes amused and calmed him in the past, Stephanie started talking. "This house is laid out a bit oddly. Mrs. Kloughn said her father was the one who turned the top two apartments into a single unit for their family. She was a little girl at the time. I guess that her grandfather was living with them along with an aunt or two, so they really needed the space." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, and saw that Ranger had turned his attention to her. "The stairs you saw in the living room go up to the third story, where the girls’ rooms are. There’s still a kitchenette up there, though we don’t use it. And, there’s a second full bath and a powder room up there too, thank heavens.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She walked through the kitchen and pointed out the door that led to the fire escape outside, just beyond the laundry room. Then she turned to go through a different doorway on the far wall. As she stopped to show Ranger where the light switch was, she looked back at him. “This is a little, separate area. The den, where you can stay, is at the end of this hallway off to the left. My room is down the other end on the right, and the bathroom is this newer-looking door next to the linen closet." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he looked at her from the corner of his eyes, she continued, “There’s another powder room on this level also, by the front door. So it’s fairly private back here. You can shower in peace.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned left down the hallway toward the den, hearing the floorboards squeak as Ranger followed her. “This whole area beyond the kitchen started out as this floor's back porch. That’s why this hallway runs side-to-side across the back of the house, and the whole thing kinda feels tacked-on. It’s all insulated, though.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bit of a tilt, Steph.” She looked at Ranger, who was inspecting the hallway floor. She half expected him to squat down and roll a marble from the doorway to the wall, as she and Angie did once. They’d also measured it and found almost an inch drop-off in height in the two feet from the doorway to the wall. There was the same tilt on the third floor, but it was part of the outside porch so she didn’t stumble up there.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No kidding.” She snorted. “Don’t try walking back here if you’ve had one-too-many glasses of wine. But it’s just the hall; the rooms are level.” She took a few more steps. “And, you know, after awhile you don’t even notice that the hallway tilts.” She figured that Ranger didn’t need to know that she still tumbled into the far wall on a weekly basis. He was so coordinated he’d probably never tripped in his entire life. Well, except when Stephanie was underfoot.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie gestured him into the last door at the end of the hall. “Here’s your room. The sofa folds out into a bed. There are clean sheets already on it, and you can use the blankets and pillows on the cabinet. The top two drawers of the cabinet are empty and you can use the left side of the closet. Not that you need that now, but you might.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She opened the closet door. "Also, believe it or not, there’s a lockable compartment inside,” she moved aside some coats from the wall. “If you get a lock, you can store guns or whatever you need in here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his raised eyebrow, she shrugged. “Don’t ask; nobody knows why there’s a locker inside this closet. This back part of the house was already enclosed when the Kloughns bought the house. We also found a hidden stairway from the third floor that goes to the boiler room in the basement.” She shrugged again and moved back to the door. “It’s just part of the strange, speakeasy charm of the place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stood in the doorway for a moment, gazing at his hooded eyes. She pushed down the urge to go back over to him and caress his tired-looking face in comfort. It had been a long time since they’d had that type of relationship. Instead, she remembered how he had rescued her and then set her free more times than she could recall. She could do at least that much for him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Returning to the practical, she took a breath. “Anyhow, Ranger, I know you have a lot to do. I’ll take your clothes and put them in the washer and leave you back here to shower.” She reached out her hand for the plastic bag holding his clothes. “The extra pair of sweats is over there, next to the blankets. The bathroom light switches are in the hallway; it’s just a weird thing they used to do in Massachusetts. You can use the dark blue towels in the bathroom, and I put out a first-aid kit and some shaving stuff that my dad left here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced at him, making sure this was okay so far. Feeling a bit awkward, she added, “Just do me a favor and lock the bathroom doors when you’re in it. She looked away. "And, be dressed while you’re in the hallway. The girls sometimes come to my bedroom, back here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem, Steph.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched for a moment longer as he took off the coat and pulled out his cell phone. At his nod, she pulled the door closed and headed back to the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since she didn’t know how long it would take for Ranger to finish his calls, shower and dress, she didn’t start fixing breakfast until after she heard the shower cut off. She used the time beforehand to make another cup of coffee for herself, put Ranger’s beer-laced clothes in the washing machine, fold what had been in the dryer, check her schedule, and return a few emails from work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just another Saturday morning on Planet Plum, she thought wryly to herself. Yup, nothing different going on, here. No sir-ee. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had time to put Ranger’s clothes in the dryer and start another load washing before Ranger finally emerged from the hallway door. He looked more like how she remembered, even though he was in the second pair of loaned Boston College sweats. Cleaned up and shaved, she could see that his face was leaner than she recalled, but he was still broad and impressively muscular. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More tellingly, he still radiated an aura of control, that sense of consciously restrained power that she remembered like an electric shock down her back. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pointed him to the kitchen table. “That laptop should be ready to use; it’s an extra so consider it yours. That stack of paper on your left is my notes from my research last night. I’ll give you a summary in a moment.” She set a cup of coffee down next to the plate of scrambled egg whites and toast that she’d already set out, along with a cup of yogurt and grapes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger sat down, looked at the table, then gazed quizzically back at her. “Is this food for me, Steph?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I already ate. Dig in." She watched as he returned his attention to the table, staring motionless as though he was memorizing the placement of everything. Unless the map of his face had changed, Stephanie was sure that the wrinkle between his eyebrows was telegraphing profound confusion. She turned back to the refrigerator to hide her expression, and pulled out a bottle of water for herself. She couldn’t help but be amused; she’d flummoxed the Wizard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, when he’d known her, back in Trenton, she was legendarily bad at cooking. Later she’d decided it was some combination of rebellion, retreat away from all things housewifely after her divorce from Dickie, and maybe even a bit of depression. Also, on reflection, her mother had taught her how to cook meals for six or more people. Beyond sandwiches, she hadn’t known how to cook for one person. And, hadn’t really wanted to.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, she cooked. She did laundry. She helped with homework. She was relatively organized. She still cheered herself by shopping Macy’s sale racks, but now also shopped at Walmart, Home Depot, Costco, and Toys ‘R’ Us. She really liked her job. And, she didn’t even want to imagine what her life would be, right now, if she didn’t have the girls in her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled to herself. Poor Ranger. She’d learned over time that he was a man, not really a wizard. So, how could he ever figure out Stephanie’s current life from gazing at a plate of eggs?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She turned back to the table, and saw that Ranger was eating while scanning through her notes. He nodded at her as she sat down, with what looked like approval in his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This is good, Steph. Who is this guy, Fennelly? He seems connected to a few of my targets.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He’s one of our FTAs. I started seeing a pattern between the men you mentioned and it reminded me of our guy, Brendan Fennelly. He was covered in one of our department morning briefings recently." She added, in a conspiratorial tone, "I always pay attention when they cover the skips; I just can’t help myself.” She grinned briefly, and thought she saw a spark of amusement in Ranger’s face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fennelly’s on an expired green card too,” she continued, “though he’s Irish so he can disappear easily in Boston. But, I remembered them saying he’d been in San Antonio and Galveston Texas about six months ago, and you’d said your guy Figueroa came from Galveston. I dug a bit further and found that Fennelly was also in Maine a few years ago when there was a suspicious explosion.” She paused to look through the papers on the table, finally pointing at one note. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here it is: Fennelly worked in a Sprint store in Portland Maine, for awhile, with a guy named Emil Akarsu, who died in a building explosion. There was evidence of a blasting cap, so it wasn’t an accident, but nobody was able to pin it on anyone. Fennelly’s green card was still good at that point, and he had an alibi. They never closed the case.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, “Interesting. Akarsu… one of the missing men I’ve been partly tracking—Burc Aburek—is married to someone with that last name.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly, and it’s not a name like Smith or Taylor that you see everywhere. Especially not in Portland Maine.” She took a sip of water while Ranger scanned her writing. As he turned to the second page, she continued, “Another name you gave me, Mirko Krc, also turned up some interesting connections. And, by the way, where do these guys get their names?” She saw his lip twitch with amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow, I think you said it was another name from Fall River, though I couldn’t find him there. I did, though, find someone named M. Krc who worked at the same dockyard as your guy Figueroa down in Galveston.” Ranger shifted in his chair, his eyes intent on her. “And, before that, I found that same green card number listed for a Marco Kirk attending an English as a Second Language school in Minneapolis, along with a guy named Amadeo Zaleyo.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped and pointed at another piece of paper on the table. “I haven’t had a chance to really check that, but the name sounds enough like your Amadeo Djaleo that I wonder if it’s the same person, especially since it’s Minnesota where you said that Djaleo guy used to live. Here are the addresses on-file back at the time of their applications. Theoretically, they would have been vetted by Homeland Security.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger sat, nodding slowly and sipping his coffee, Stephanie noticed that he’d finished his food already, leaving nothing behind. He had obviously been hungry, even with the granola bars this morning. She wondered how long he’d been living out of his truck.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Interrupting her thoughts, Ranger squared her stack of paper and picked it up, again. “Steph, this is really helpful. I see you also have the FTA paperwork for your guy, Fennelly. Are you still skip tracing on the side?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I work for the cops, remember? Bounty hunting is one of the many fun hobbies you have to give up.” She peered at him from the corner of her eyes. “However, I kinda persuaded Stony to make me a copy and bring it this morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched as he stared silently at her over the rim of the coffee cup, eyes narrowed. From her experience with the arresting detectives in her precinct, she knew he was applying nonverbal pressure to encourage her to fill the silence while he thought about what she’d said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She found herself wishing she had understood that technique back when she'd first known Ranger back in Trenton. He had always been able to sit her out, getting her to divulge anything with his motionless, focused stare. Since then, she’d learned a lot about intimidation and stonewalling from masters at the art. So, she just peered back at him, enjoying the moment. Time stretched on.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, Ranger’s eyes narrowed. “Stony didn’t make you pay for this, did he?” Ranger asked, darkly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. I traded him a favor, she replied, archly. “He was in a bit of a bind this morning. It seems that he needed a local residential address to bond-out a really scary prisoner in a deal that had gotten dumped on him last night. The cops wouldn’t accept any of his usual addresses, including the YMCA men’s residence or the HoJo’s by Fenway. Stony was starting to worry about his personal safety if he couldn’t deliver.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused for a sip of water, entertained by Ranger’s attentive look. With mock seriousness, she added, “I figured he was busy, so he didn’t need to know that I already planned to provide an address, regardless.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She watched as a small, amused look briefly traced across his face. “You already planned, regardless,” he echoed, one eyebrow raised. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup.” She replied breezily. “Already planned, with Boston College sweat clothes in the back seat of my car.” Seeing that he was playing along, she added, “And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> I’m not borrowing those 3XL gray sweatpants for my own fashion statement.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled briefly. “Stony never had a chance.” Putting down the coffee, he continued, “Which reminds me, how long before I have non-baggy clothes and we can head out?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m guessing about 30 minutes, now. Depends on how quickly your cargo pants dry." She stood up and started gathering the empty dishes from the small kitchen table, thinking that she'd never known there were fleece-lined cargo pants. She wanted a pair of those herself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, then let’s plan to leave in about 30 minutes, then.” He turned his focus to the laptop, face carefully blank. “By the way, L.L.Bean has fleece-lined cargoes in women's sizes.” Stephanie looked at him and then sighed with amused exasperation. She knew by now that it wasn't ESP—enough people had joked that she mumbled her thoughts out loud—but she decided to play along anyway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jeez, </span>
  <em>
    <span>that's</span>
  </em>
  <span> the thing you can read directly from my mind?” She threw up her hands in mock exasperation, and was rewarded by seeing him smirk from the corner of her eye. Ranger humor, she thought to herself as she took the dishes to the sink. Rare and charming in its own strange way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Back to business, Ranger looked over at her. “Steph, I need to print some maps and the DMV forms for my driver’s license. Can I use the printer in the dining room?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, she knew he’d cased her house while walking through. “Yeah, it’s the one named ‘BigBoi’ in the printer list.” She saw the corner of his lip twitch. “Mary Alice named it. But, in case you think that’s a mistake, the other printer upstairs is ‘Andre3000’. And if you hadn't noticed, the router is Spinderella.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, he chuckled slightly. “A girl named Mary Alice likes OutKast and listens to hip-hop and rap?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Only what I let her listen to,” she answered Ranger’s amused look. “Well, she's a teenager so that's a polite fiction. But really, she likes music, any kind. She wants to go into the recording business when she grows up, if she doesn't end up in women's pro soccer. It could go either way at this point.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s the one who thought she was a horse, right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that was a long time ago. But, she’s not the least bit apologetic about it. She’s gone through a few other phases since then. She's big on reinventing herself every few years.” Stephanie went over to the fridge and pulled off a picture from this past summer, when they were at the Cape. “Here, the one on the left with the purple streak in her hair is Mary Alice. The other girl is Angie, who’s in college now, if you believe that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the picture, almost as though he was committing it to memory. It made Stephanie wonder if, in Ranger’s life, all photos were possible targets he might need to trace someday. She couldn’t read the look in his eyes when he looked up. “Mary Alice looks a bit like you, Steph. Same facial geometry. Same shape to her lips and eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, both she and Sarah, who’s the youngest. Sarah was also lucky enough to get my dad’s hair, like me. I always wondered why he kept that out-of-fashion crewcut. Then I found out that he was the source of my lifelong hair challenge.” She paused, snorting. “After Sarah came home from a play date with ants in her hair, I kept it really short until she started second grade. I didn’t want her to get tangled in a shrub in the backyard like I did. Jeez, I still remember my dad having to cut me out of it.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Ranger laughed out loud. “Only you, Babe,” he said, handing the picture back to her and looking back down at the computer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heart leapt into her throat yet again. Between yesterday and today, this was becoming a regular feeling. It seemed so natural when he called her “Babe” that it took her breath away. Putting the picture back on the fridge door, she took a moment to steady herself. She resolved that she wouldn’t let it mean anything. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A couple of years ago, she’d realized that he might never have meant “Babe” to be the special endearment that she had imagined. She had possibly fallen in love with a fantasy. This time, with this unexpected second chance, she wanted to stay grounded in reality. She stopped for a moment to consider what that meant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>First and foremost, she wanted to truly reach this reserved man, once and for all. She wanted to recover the ease they’d had with each other in the past, and yet keep her heart. She wanted to see if they could have the friendship she’d always imagined, unencumbered by misplaced lust. She nodded to herself, renewing her resolve. She could do this.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Grounding herself again, she looked at the other pictures scattered on the refrigerator door. Angie’s picture. The Halloween pictures she’d just put up this weekend. The picture of her father and all the girls last summer. The picture of Lisa standing next to a dinosaur diorama on a school trip. The picture of Mary Lou and her family on Cape Cod. A picture from the last time Lula had visited from Baltimore. There was even a picture from last Christmas with Joe, Amanda and Angelina. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie wondered wistfully if there would ever be a recent picture of Ranger, here, too. She had an old one at work; but since it was from a distraction job it felt like a work picture. Almost eight years old and fading, it didn’t make her happy the way the pictures on her fridge did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a deep breath, she remembered hearing Ranger say “Earth to Steph” in moments like this, bringing her back from wherever her mind had journeyed. “Earth to myself,” she thought. She was pretty sure she hadn’t said that last part out loud. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie looked over at Ranger, who was intently reading something on the laptop. Thinking about what Ranger might need beyond the obvious things—like clothes, a car, and a gun—she figured he probably still needed more information on-the-ground. He’d said he had local informants, but so did she. She went out to the living room to retrieve her laptop to check if she’d gotten any replies from emails she’d sent earlier this morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As a member of the Boston PD, there were lines she could reasonably cross, like getting a copy of Fennelly’s FTA file from Ranger’s bail bondsman. Like making some calls and introducing Ranger to people she thought could maybe help him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Like talking to Luiza Veiga, the grandmotherly Cape Verdean receptionist at the health clinic on the outskirts of the Dorchester neighborhood where the police had found the men Ranger was accused of shooting. Stephanie expected to see Luiza at a wake she planned to attend later this afternoon as a liaison from the BPD. The wake was unrelated to Ranger’s case; it was for a local Cape Verdean store owner who’d died unexpectedly from a heart attack. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie’s instincts, though, were telling her that there was something </span>
  <em>
    <span>interesting </span>
  </em>
  <span>about the fact that Ranger had been found in a car tied to a possible flare-up in Cape Verdean gang activity while he was following Figueroa, a Brazilian fugitive. It wouldn’t be the first time that a stray Brazilian or Angolan had gotten swept into the Portuguese-speaking Cape Verdean community, if that’s what had happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In Stephanie’s opinion, the whole situation was odd, even if Ranger weren’t a factor. The bodies had been left provocatively on a boundary with a small Hispanic gang. But this shooting wasn’t typical of how any of the gangs in the area operated. This was a neighborhood of barely adult boys who knocked over liquor stores, ran numbers and drugs, and stole cars. It wasn’t typically a flashpoint for shooting and drive-bys, though such neighborhoods weren’t far away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, both gangs in this situation were home-grown—they weren’t Maras or ALKN—but the potential for neighborhood violence was obvious. The BPD would be under a lot of pressure to quickly find that the killing was due to an outside player, like Ranger, rather than someone from a local gang who would spark a cycle of retribution.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wouldn’t say anything to Ranger until she had more information. But, her “spidey senses” were going off the chart just thinking about it. In the meantime, she had a couple of helpful names and addresses she’d share with Ranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, she heard the dryer. She got up and headed back to where Ranger was sitting, toward the laundry room that was through another door in the kitchen. As she came in, Ranger got up to follow her. Pulling his clothes from the dryer, she was glad they’d lost the fermented smell between washing and the heat of drying. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger took his clothes from her and, in the small room, immediately stripped off his shirt to change. He paused, holding his own dry shirt in his hands, as he caught her glance. She wasn’t sure if her face had been radiating her surprise. Or, if it instead revealed her sudden onslaught of lust at seeing his broad, muscular chest and arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, it had been quite awhile since she’d seen a male, naked chest at such close quarters. Dazed, she reflected that, even with scars and a tattoo she didn’t remember, Ranger’s physique was still well-chiseled and… well, perfect. More than perfect….</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry Steph. Used to being by myself. I’ll head back to the bathroom to change,” she heard him say, his voice low. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She couldn’t help herself as her eyes were drawn back down to his smooth, bulging chest and the satin skin that covered his rippled abs. “Yeah, that would be best,” she said vaguely while she forcefully pulled her gaze away from the trace of hair that still ran so tantalizingly from his navel down to his waistband. “Good thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned and walked from the room, and she couldn’t help but notice the bulk of his upper arms and back. They contrasted perfectly with his lean waist and the promise of his well-rounded butt silhouetted under the sweatpants. She closed the dryer door and leaned against it, checking for drool, struggling for a sense of normalcy.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She had to get herself back together. Getting lost in Ranger’s raw handsomeness was not going to help anyone. It would just take her back along the path that had broken her heart, and apparently had not been what Ranger had wanted either. Instead, he had a case to solve that would help him overturn the arrest that she saw looming over his life in a worrisome shadow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She needed to focus on solving that situation, and on renewing their friendship in a sustainable way. These were her strengths; time to focus on the positive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By the time he returned to the kitchen, she had gotten her breath back to normal, and renewed her resolve. She saw that he’d cleared the table of her notes and the laptop, presumably having secured them in the den. Carrying the pea coat, Ranger was dressed in his dark cargo pants, black T-shirt, and bulky navy-blue cotton sweater. He was back to being the visually stunning yet intentionally impassive man who radiated competent, dangerous strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Steph, I’m ready to roll.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” She answered, glad that they were back to normal. “I checked and the local post office will be open for another half hour. I can take your DMV form there, while you go to the international check-cashing place down the street that I’m told is reputable.” She paused for him to comment, but he just nodded. “Then we can drive and get you some clothes. The store Darius mentioned is only about 10 minutes away, and it’s near a drugstore if you need incidentals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t have a lot of money, Steph, and I still need a car and some tools of the trade.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And fortunately, Ranger, these days there are these things called credit cards, and I have a couple.” At his pointed glance, she added “You can owe me. You have my address, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I still need wheels more than clothes.”  </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, were you storing your clothes in your truck when it was stolen?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glowered at her, “I had a number of things in my truck when it was stolen.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Which says to me that, yes, your clothes are now missing, among other things. Seriously, it will take us an hour, maybe less, to get you clothes. Then, I’ll drop you off near a place where I think you can get a car cheap, without a lot of questions.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused and he started to put on his coat and walk toward the printer in the dining room. Following in his wake, she added, “Just don’t tell me the details later. As a friendly local representative of the Boston PD, I think I’m having amnesia about your current driver’s license status.” She saw his lip twitch in amusement as he grabbed pages of maps from the printer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They walked toward the front door as Ranger folded his papers and slipped them into various pockets of his pants. “Also, Ranger, as part of that amnesia, I’m in a big fog about how you might have weapons the next time I see you, before the mandatory waiting period has expired.” She reached down for a small pad of paper and a pen on the credenza near the front door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“However, on a completely unrelated matter, after you have a car, I suggest you go visit this guy named Wilfredo Perez, outside of Mission Hill, to get some pointers about the neighborhood. He’s usually there on Saturday until around 7pm.” He turned to her while she scribbled something and then tore the paper from the pad. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie was amused at his expression; it was carefully blank in a way that meant he was waiting for her to make sense. She’d seen that expression a lot. Other people might tell her they had no clue what she was talking about. Ranger simply stared at her, waiting for her to crack and tell him what she meant. She found it funny, and couldn’t resist adding, “While you’re there Ranger, do me a favor: Ask how ‘Fredo’s grandma is doing.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wilfredo’s grandma,” Ranger echoed, skepticism in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, she’s too young for Medicare and they make too much for Medicaid. I helped him get her on a cheaper health plan that actually covered more of her meds.” She paused, handing the torn piece of paper to Ranger. “Here’s the address of his shop.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked down at the address. Then he flicked his gaze back up to her and his lip twitched briefly in amusement. “Got it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie enjoyed the moment, knowing that she'd not only just given Ranger the name of a pawn shop, but she'd spelled the name properly in Spanish. Turning toward the door, she put on her coat and hat, and then pulled her purse onto her shoulder. She told him the alarm code, though she was sure he’d already memorized it from watching her when they arrived. She also handed him a key-ring that she’d pulled from a small cabinet in the corner. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Here are the keys. This one is for downstairs, and this next one is for up here. I know you don’t need them, but my neighbors will call the precinct if they even sense that you’re picking the lock outside. Or, Mrs. Arshad’s grandson downstairs will attack you with his plastic darts set.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She continued as they walked downstairs. “If you get a car, Ranger, park it behind mine on the driveway. I try to leave the other side free for Mrs. Arshad and her sons.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why don’t you park in that big garage that’s at the end of the driveway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh that,” she said with amusement. “No room left in the garage.” She smiled to herself as she locked the front door and headed down the walk to her Subaru. “So, Ranger, I’m driving. You can pretend to be calm, again.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw him look at her with amusement in his eyes. “That obvious, Babe?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re never obvious,” she answered, beeping the car doors open. “Never, ever. You’re just who you are. You’re Ranger. You’re Ricardo Mañoso.” She slid into the driver’s seat and, with a shy smile, looked at him and said, “You’re you.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Working the Puzzle</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 6 - Working the Puzzle</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Sipping on his second coffee since mid-afternoon, Ranger knew that he wasn’t as sharp as he’d prefer. A long night in the BPD lockup could do that. Sure, he could function without sleep for a few days, but he was still fighting whatever those assholes had injected in him. Ketamine, for sure. He was now starting to think that the “chaser” they’d added was an opiate like heroin, instead of barbiturates, given the level of irritability and muscle aches he was fighting. Whatever it was, he was not at his best today.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Crap, he thought, this was getting old. It didn’t help that he’d been on the road with little sleep for a few weeks. Of course, he was stronger and tougher than most. He knew that was true. However, he reflected with annoyance, lately he was finding that it took longer to rebound. Longer, at least, than when he was a hard-on in his twenties with a brash Army-strong attitude. He’d never reveal that to anyone, especially not the people who hired him for jobs, but there it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at the cheap wristwatch he’d bought at a drugstore a few hours ago, along with some other personal supplies. Only 20:00. Eight PM. On a normal stakeout, that meant he had a full shift yet to go. He fought the sense that he was just filling time; that watching the bodega where he’d been knocked-out was a dead end. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sipped his coffee again. Caffeine and warmth. Even if asking for ‘regular’ coffee seemed to be code for ‘carpet bomb it with sugar and cream.’ For now, it was warmth and energy; enough to get him through this evening’s vigil. Tomorrow during the day he’d be able to track down more leads. And get some decent goddamn coffee.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Right now, though, he was outside the Allston bodega where he’d been waylaid. He’d followed the maxim he’d learned as an Army Ranger: When you’re not sure where to go next, return to the last place where something changed. So, he sat. Frustrated by the fact that he had lost over a full day since the last time he’d been here. Angry at himself that he’d lost his truck, and resigned to the fact that this piece-of-shit car’s heater didn’t work. </span>
</p><p><span>Shrugging to himself, he reflected that at least he had a car. And warm clothes, since Steph had insisted on buying him thermal underwear, wool socks, and gloves,</span> <span>along with the week’s worth of jeans and shirts she’d piled up for him at the store. </span></p><p>
  <span>Admittedly, he needed clothes. But, he’d felt distinctly uncomfortable with her buying clothes for him. It was not how he conducted his business when he was with a woman. He had the money; he just couldn’t get to it until Monday. His replacement Platinum card should also arrive by Monday. Surely a new wardrobe could wait a couple of days. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d simply told him, yet again, to get over himself while she’d shoved her credit card at the store clerk. Then, she'd given him the receipts with an arch reminder that he could send a check to her house anytime. After which, she’d crossed her arms and insisted that he go back into the fitting room and put on the long underwear, thermal shirt, and warm socks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt his lips twitch in a smile. Her determination that he dress warmly, more than the pictures on her fridge, revealed that she’d spent the last seven years of her life shepherding a group of children. What strange changes time could make.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting in his cold car, Ranger vowed that he’d reimburse Steph for everything, not just the clothes. In truth, he owed her more than money. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sitting in the jail interrogation room on Friday night, he’d known without a shadow of a doubt that he was royally screwed up the ass. And then she’d entered the room. As was always the case with Stephanie, karma shifted at that moment. In the bleakness of the long day’s events he’d assumed that all bridges between them had burned seven years ago in a fire he’d probably set himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he’d forgotten what Stephanie was like. He should have known that she would believe him, that she’d bring hope like a lifesaver and would throw it to him without question. That even more miraculously, she’d offer her house, her food, her money, and her contacts. All to help him; out of the blue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, as he was re-learning, when Steph made a friend she didn’t go half way. All day, she’d put herself out for him, no questions asked. In fact, he had a car, weapons, and had some cash left over, thanks to Steph’s efforts. And, he had reason to smile for the first time in awhile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He was still amused that she'd steered him to a car repair company that was obviously, to his eyes, the front for a chop shop. At first he’d considered the possibility that she was lost as she’d driven them down deserted streets, past boarded-up buildings and abandoned trash-filled lots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, she’d pulled over to drop him off, showing him where they were on a map and telling him that the car lot was a few blocks away. Oh, and by the way, he shouldn’t mention her name. And, oh yeah, she was never there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not a problem. Ranger had no difficulty finding the place after he’d walked a couple of blocks and turned the corner. He’d quickly reached an understanding with the squat, chain-wearing former boxer who had unlocked the metal gate for him. Within a half hour Ranger had left the lot with a somewhat lighter wallet. More importantly, he was driving a nondescript car that wasn’t on a police blotter. He just had to make sure he wasn't pulled over, since the VIN might not completely pass scrutiny. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d wondered if the excessively dodgy nature of the used car lot was an accident; the type of over-the-top criminal endeavor that Steph had always managed to walk into without realizing its magnitude. Or, maybe her brain had regularly short-circuited to obscure dire reality when there was no looking away. Ranger had never been able to quite figure that out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regardless, as he'd driven away from the lot in his crappy Chevy, he'd decided that he might as well ride out the streak of Steph's good luck. With that, the next order of business was to visit her friend Wilfredo Perez's shop just outside Mission Hill. Thinking about that after the fact, he smiled. His Babe had gotten slick. And tricky.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d been curious what Steph was up to, when she’d stood by her front door and told him to visit her friend Wilfredo. Then she’d slipped him the name and address for a pawn shop. That was clever: she'd sent him to a person who could maybe steer him somewhere he could get weapons off the books, without saying that explicitly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He'd been charmed by her discreet indirection. Though, frankly, he’d assumed she was passing him to another half-assed fence like her old friend Dougie back in Trenton. Especially after she told him to ask after Wilfredo's grandma. That had all the earmarks of one of Steph's usual quirky, blue collar refugee friends.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he'd met Wilfredo. Wiry, with tattoos on his neck and well-muscled arms, Wilfredo had radiated menace as he'd stood under the sign that declared “Casa de Empeños: Pawn and Loans.” That sense of menace was reinforced by the hardcore metal grating on the windows, the bar on the door, and the prominent “You Loot, We Shoot” sign on the first case visible from the door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, Wilfredo had instantly reminded Ranger of his old friend Hector. Thinking of the quick and overwhelming damage that Hector could do, Ranger had quickly assessed Wilfredo's stance and watched as Wilfredo returned the favor. Having established a baseline understanding, Ranger had seen Wilfredo's eyes flick to the round surveillance camera. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger knew that the gesture meant that it was okay to enter. And, that the quick glance was also Wilfredo’s warning that Ranger’s every move would be watched. Just in case Ranger hadn't figured that out already. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d nodded at Wilfredo and moved into the shop, scanning for hidden threats. There had only been one other shopper—a skinny blond teenager scoping out a locked case full of Xbox and Playstation hardware. Ranger made a show of looking at the merchandise. He pretended to inspect the dusty guitars on the wall while he scoped out a couple of fighting knives in a reinforced glass display case under the musical instruments. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amidst cases of random junk—including answering machines, jewelry, custom pool cues, Pez dispensers, and crystal glassware—Ranger located the handcuffs, stun-guns, and other tools for which he could barter. That is, after he secured a gun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As soon as the teenager left the shop, Ranger had glanced at Wilfredo. As though they were old colleagues, Ranger had leaned casually against one of the cases. In the working class </span>
  <em>
    <span>puertorriqueño</span>
  </em>
  <span> Spanish he'd grown up with in Newark, Ranger said conversationally, “We have a mutual friend who suggested I come to shop here for what I need, and asked me to enquire about your grandmother's health.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is that so?” Wilfredo had asked as he stared, unblinking. “Do you always do what this friend asks? And... Is there a reason why you, yourself would enquire?” Ranger had called it right; Wilfredo’s accent in Spanish was definitely Puerto Rican. For the most part his grandparents’ Cuban accent was only useful in Miami; elsewhere it marked him as a snob. Or worse. Someone who Wilfredo would have closed off in a heartbeat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded at Wilfredo’s questions, answering casually, “I find it’s often a good idea to try what our mutual friend suggests. In this case, she mentioned specifically that I should come here to look for some tools I need.” Ranger glanced at the locked gun case, then back to Wilfredo. “And, she specifically wanted me to check on your grandma, that her healthcare plan is working as expected.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wilfredo had smiled at that. Not a particularly friendly smile, but Ranger wasn’t looking to find a best friend. Or, if he did find a best friend, it was going to be metal with a barrel and a trigger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, there are people who surprise you, and it’s good to listen to their advice. They know more than you might think,” Wilfredo agreed. Then he’d pushed a button that engaged a lock on the front door, and flicked another that Ranger assumed made the shop look closed from the outside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After that, they’d gotten down to business, discussing the type of guns Ranger preferred, how he wore them, and the other particulars of his typical arsenal. Wilfredo probed regarding his ID and Ranger countered with his need for weapons that would not be traceable back to a crime. A bit later, Ranger had a medium-weight Glock and shoulder holster. He’d also selected a smaller gun he could strap to his ankle, or put in his waistband for a quick pull. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While negotiating a price, Ranger was able to add a couple pairs of cuffs, a stun-gun, a used bulletproof vest, and a pack of clip-on pepper/teargas canisters. The amount was only a bit more than Ranger would have paid to the used weapons dealer he usually visited in Newark, a man he’d saved from a stint in prison through his testimony. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had paid and then put away his purchases, either on his body or in the canvas bag that Wilfredo slid across the counter to him. Then, Wilfredo had pressed an intercom button and Ranger tensed. He'd quickly considered his options, knowing that Wilfredo had sold him bullets but hadn’t loaded the guns. Ranger turned to face the backroom door, so he’d see what he was up against.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He relaxed his stance when a tiny nut-brown woman emerged from the door, by herself. Wilfredo introduced him to his grandmother, his abuela. She walked over, and Ranger noted that she barely reached his shoulders in height. She reached out a thin hand and patted Ranger’s arm. “You are Estefanie’s friend,” she said in Spanish, while nodding. “She can tell if people are good inside, or not.” Her bird-like hand had reached over to rest over his heart. “She sees in here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had just stared at Wilfredo’s abuela, not sure what to say. He’d been expecting thanks for visiting the shop, or news about the health plan. This was oddly personal. Well, when in doubt, say nothing. That was usually the best approach, unless he needed to turn the tables. No need for that with little abuelita.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d smiled at Ranger as though she knew what he was thinking, and lowered her hand. “Tell Estefanie that I am doing well, thanks to her help. I can afford to take the whole pills now, not cut in half to save the money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused, rubbing her upper lip with her thumb and index finger. Then, raising her head to stare directly at Ranger, she added thoughtfully, “Also tell Estefanie this: Same as her, I see into people’s hearts. I think that she can keep trusting yours, but only if you are willing to trust it also.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Abuela,” Wilfredo said, small wrinkles around his eyes betraying amusement, “this man has come here to shop for practical items, not for the advice of an </span>
  <em>
    <span>hechicera</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a sorceress.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking her finger at her grandson, she answered, “But some people, they search for truth wherever they are. It kills their soul to not find it. Sometimes those people need to hear what is real without having to figure it out for themselves.” She exhaled forcefully. “Besides, if he is Estefanie’s friend, he already knows at least one </span>
  <em>
    <span>hechicera</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though maybe he is not aware.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s alright,” Ranger interjected, seeing Wilfredo’s frown. He suddenly pictured Stephanie’s Grandma Mazur, and briefly wondered where she was. With a mental shake, he replied, “I’ve known Stephanie for a long time; I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>la magia</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the magic she accepts in her life.” He turned to the small woman, “I hear you, and the sincerity of your words. I appreciate your advice,” he said with the grace that his own grandmother Mañoso had demanded of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s all I ask, young man. Today, if you’ve paid Wilfredo’s bill and you take my advice, then we’ve had a good exchange. All is in balance. But, I think you should stop by again sometime, and I’ll tell you about the other things I see in your heart.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that point, Wilfredo had shaken his head. With a frown and a visible flourish, he’d unlocked the front door and flipped switches under the counter, reopening the shop for business. Wilfredo’s grandmother had smiled, a sparkle in her deep espresso eyes. “I think, Estefanie’s young man, that we are done for today. Go with God.” She’d turned while talking, and disappeared again through the backroom door.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had left, with thanks, passing a large woman carrying a computer into the store. He’d felt far more confident with the familiar weight of weapons on his body. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ever since that conversation a couple hours ago, though, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Stephanie. Sitting outside the Allston bodega, he shifted in his seat to see if he could clear his mind and concentrate on the stakeout. But he could still hear Steph's voice from earlier today, echoing in his mind. </span>
  <em>
    <span>“You’re Ranger. You’re Ricardo Mañoso. You’re you.” </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminded him uncomfortably of what was probably the last time he’d been at her apartment in Trenton, before he’d left for a year and returned to find her gone permanently from the city. She had been in her kitchen, laughing, telling him that he was going to succeed at the impossible yet again because he was Batman and he couldn’t fail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d snapped. There was no other way to describe it. He finally said what had been building up for months. Like a murderer unable to forget the scene of the crime, he remembered her smile turning to hurt as he’d pinned her with his eyes. “You always want me to be Batman, Steph,” he’d ground out, his frustration coiled like a spring. “For a few years, it’s made me want to be better than I am. But, I'm just a man. A dangerous man, a driven man. But, not a guy in a high-tech suit playing the dark hero. That was just the image you needed to fit me into your whitebread world.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her cornflower blue eyes had been wide, looking bruised as she’d looked back at him. “But, Ranger, I don’t understand,” she’d said slowly. “It’s like how I pretend I’m Wonder Woman living with Rex the Wonder Hamster. But you don’t even have to pretend. What I meant...” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d cut her off. “What you </span>
  <em>
    <span>meant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Babe, was to have a little fantasy in your life.” After he said that, he knew it wouldn’t be fair to say what else he thought. Which was that she wanted the comfort of a man in the ‘Burg like Joe, with the added thrill of an exotic, dark-skinned Cuban on the side. Why accuse her of that, when he was just as guilty of wanting the tantalizing magical life that she’d implied? Even at the time, he knew he wasn’t being fair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>After all, hadn't he craved the physical and visual contrast between their skin when they were hand-in-hand, or body-to-body? Her cries during sex thrilled him, drove him. He’d felt complete when he was inside her. Rescuing her from impossible situations made him feel like the world’s biggest, strongest hero. Awakening with her curly head and her alabaster hand on his chest had made him feel like he was home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d kept needing to walk away, to push her away, to shove himself away, just to keep from succumbing. Why accuse her of his own weaknesses? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, that afternoon back in Trenton, he’d said a few platitudes to smooth over the moment, made sure to call her “Babe” so she’d feel he was still the man she knew, and left with a promise to call. Oddly, he didn’t remember if he actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> called her back. It was rare that he forgot things like that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With the distance of seven years, he now suspected he’d gotten that conversation all wrong. After all, she was one of the few people in his life who’d let him into her life as a friend, regardless of what she called him. And, wasn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>the one who’d always dealt with her under an alias, as Henry Higgins—shit, as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>—since they’d first met? All she’d done was to create her own alias for him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>What she hadn't known at the time, what nobody knew, was that Ranger was chafing under </span>
  <em>
    <span>all </span>
  </em>
  <span>of his aliases. For more than a year he’d been resisting the very image he’d created for himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>By choice, he wasn’t Captain Mañoso from the Army anymore. In Trenton, he’d become </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the enigmatic hard man who was always in control. The man who drove fast cars, carried concealed, and retrieved seasoned criminals for their bounty. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The fierce man who lived and worked in a steel-and-glass fortress. The warrior who’d built a company that required him to spend endless hours on paperwork and staffing issues. The gun-for-hire who’d increasingly felt that the lifestyle he’d constructed was sterile and confining. The lifestyle that Ranger had made.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ultimate irony was that the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger </span>
  </em>
  <span>had started as a jest. It was Tank’s way of saying that his former commander still acted like an Army Ranger, just in civilian clothes. If Rick didn’t want to be called Mañoso because of his family or use his Army Ranger handle—</span>
  <em>
    <span>El Pardo</span>
  </em>
  <span>—anymore, Tank would simply call him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a conundrum. Ranger still often felt like </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Pardo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, short for </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Leopardo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with that name’s nod to his cat-like stealth and speed, and his ability to operate with independent and violent dispatch. But, here in the States he didn’t want to be that man. His family lived here. It was a land of shopping malls, T-ball games after school, and the assumption that violence and crimes warranted time in prison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t a land where he was an operative tasked with using any means necessary to clear the path for an occupying force. If he captured someone and dragged them across borders, it was because they were already in the system, in violation of bail. He needed to step away from being </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Pardo </span>
  </em>
  <span>because he wasn't ready to be one of the grizzled, cynical soldiers of fortune he'd encountered overseas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had also grown weary of the play on words that, in the Army way, was embedded in the name. In this case, it was the Spanish word for brown, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pardo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin. Ranger was a brown man who could be hidden in plain sight in countries full of brown people. An American Latino who they could put undercover in Iraq, Syria, or the tribal areas straddling Pakistan and Afghanistan. Well, maybe.</span>
</p><p><span>Too many nicknames, too many personas…. But, in the final analysis, he did need an alias to separate the person he had to be—to do the work he did—from his core self. So, after a couple of years of soul-searching on the road, he was comfortable again being called </span><em><span>Ranger</span></em><span>. He’d laid that discomfort to rest. The name embodied the strength and resolve of his Army Ranger background.</span> <span>And, of course, it was convenient since so many of his domestic contacts already knew that name.</span></p><p>
  <span>And well, screw it: The name </span>
  <span>also reminded him of Tank’s exasperated humor.</span>
  <span> Tank was one of the few people with the integrity and the sheer guts to tell Ranger when he was losing it. He’d wear the name </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> in recognition of that bravery, also.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So sure, names had meaning. But what harm was there in Stephanie calling him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Batman</span>
  </em>
  <span>? If he was starkly honest with himself, he hadn’t been truly angry that she’d called him by a nickname. No, with self-awareness gained from the past several years, he now understood that he had longed too deeply for a woman who knew him well enough to use his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own </span>
  </em>
  <span>name. To know him as </span>
  <em>
    <span>himself</span>
  </em>
  <span>. No make-believe heroic persona in the middle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, he grimaced, that was hardly her fault. She knew his full, given name: Ricardo Carlos Mañoso. The Cuban name with which he’d been born. Exotic to her, like his dark skin; like his dark lifestyle. She even knew a couple of his other aliases, like Marc Pardo and Carl Taino, though she didn’t know their significance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking another sip of his coffee to stay warm in his car outside the bodega, Ranger reflected sourly that, through it all, he’d never told her what his closest friends called him. He wondered for a moment, if he’d stayed that day in Trenton and asked her to call him Rick, just Rick.... Would things have turned out differently? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, being honest with himself, probably not. In retrospect, he could see that he’d been struggling against himself, against the image he'd created for himself. Mr. Suave, undercover operative </span>
  <em>
    <span>extraordinaire</span>
  </em>
  <span> by day; CAT-boot-wearing skip tracer at night. In the final analysis, he’d been struggling against the constraints of the very self-image and business he’d built. And, working harder every day to hide that fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Steph… well, Steph had been stuck like a teenager, rebelling against her upbringing in her crappy apartment and taking increasingly dangerous risks with her life. He was decidedly uncomfortable knowing that he’d helped her float along. Yet, even after he’d finally seen the recklessness buried in her refreshing, unusual approach to life, he’d still been drawn to her unpredictability despite himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dammit, be honest: He’d been unable to stay away, even knowing that she was really Joe Morelli’s woman. Even knowing that part of her rebelliousness was to fling herself into danger and then expect her personal Batman to rescue her. So, in the final analysis, even staying with her as </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span> would not have helped. Nothing else about their situation would have been solid. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah, so he’d been right to leave Trenton when he did. The job had taken a little over a year, but honestly it had taken that long before he’d finally felt like he’d returned to himself. He’d come back to Trenton feeling ready to resume his life. Only to find that life had moved along, not waiting for him to get his shit together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he hesitated, what would have happened if they’d met for the first time now, as the people they’d become? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Ranger’s attention snapped back to the stakeout in his cold, crappy car. He watched as a couple of men entered the bodega. He could see their silhouettes under the street light by the store’s front door. One of them looked blond and skinny under his coat, so not Figueroa. Not any of Ranger’s targets. He wasn’t sure about the other man so he watched through the store’s front window, waiting for when they’d turn to the cash register. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He set down his coffee, which had gotten lukewarm, and crossed his arms for warmth. Leaning back in the car seat, he unconsciously positioned his right hand under the flap of his coat in case he needed to pull the Glock from its holster. He did a quick scan of the street where he was parked, then looked back at the store.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A few more customers trickled in, this time all women. They were speaking to each other so he rolled down the window to listen. Caribbean; probably one of the French islands. An earlier customer, an old man, came out. Finally, through the store window, he saw the face of the second man who’d gone in with the skinny blond. He wasn’t any of Ranger’s targets, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger relaxed, puffing out a breath in a column of steam that fogged as though he’d just exhaled from a cigarette. He took another look at his watch. 20:10. Ten minutes since the last time he looked. When had he gotten this impatient? He used to be renowned for his ability to sit almost motionless for hours, only the regular movement of his eyes betraying his active attention to the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wondered if that had been part of his problem with this particular stakeout the first time. Realizing that he needed to ground himself, he decided to take the moment of downtime to call Steph. He should have called her earlier to let her know what was going on. However, it felt odd; he wasn’t used to checking in with anyone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Also, he told himself as he pulled out the phone, she’d said she needed to go to a wake this afternoon, so he'd known she wouldn't be available. He put in the earbud he’d bought at the drugstore and, without thinking, tapped-in a number on the phone. He heard the first ring before he realized that he’d called Stephanie’s Trenton number from years ago. His fingers remembered how to find her, after all this time. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello?” he heard Stephanie’s voice answer. “Who is this?” Ranger heard voices in the background. “Ranger, is that you? Are you okay?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe,” he answered, suddenly unsure why he'd called. He heard clattering on her end, and voices. “I'm fine, Steph. Are you still at the wake? I can call back.” He consciously began to relax his hand where it clenched the phone, preparing to hang up. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, this is perfect timing," she answered, her voice speaking over the others in the background. "We're just getting ready for dinner." He heard the sound of her phone rubbing against cloth, and then her muffled voice, "No, Sarah, you can’t wear your Halloween costume to dinner tonight. Nobody else will be wearing theirs, and besides you found out last week that you can’t really see your food when you’re wearing it."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She returned, her voice back to normal. “Sorry about that Ranger. Where are you? I'm assuming the car worked out alright. Or, do you need a ride?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Steph, I don’t need a ride. I’m okay with the car and with the rest of my shopping.” He was being intentionally vague in case her phone was tapped. It reminded him of the times he’d call her during long stakeouts in Trenton just for the human contact, even though he couldn’t tell her any details. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Steph, how was the wake? Open casket?” He heard her laugh; the one that made him think of what she must have been like as a girl.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, I may be a nut, but I’m not my Grandma Mazur. At least, not yet.” He heard what sounded like a pile of silverware being put on a table. Then her muffled voice: “Lisa, take these, please.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, I should let you go…”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No Ranger, wait,” she interrupted, “First off, I’m not sure if I was clear that you’re absolutely welcome to join us for dinner, but you are. You’re family. Second, I want to tell you what I heard at the wake. Do you have time?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure Steph,” he answered, settling in for one of her stories. He was prepared to hear about riots at the funeral home, unexpected hook-ups, toupee mishaps, exploding taxidermy.... Really, he thought he was prepared to hear about anything whatsoever. But, he actually wasn’t prepared for the direction her conversation took.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, Ranger, the men you’re accused of shooting—falsely I might add—have Cape Verde connections, but they're not from the Cape Verde community around here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait Steph, slow down. I thought you were telling me about the wake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am. It was a wake for a respected older man in the local Cape Verde community, near the area where the shooting occurred. Anyhow, some of the folks who know everything in the community were there. So I asked some questions.” Stephanie paused as Ranger heard a voice that sounded a lot like Steph’s tell her that everything was under control, so she could take her call in peace. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie continued, and he heard a door close. He imagined that she was in the hallway to her bedroom. To his bedroom…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow, Ranger, they told me that one of the guys who was shot is from the Cape Verde neighborhood in Fall River, which is where you said Figueroa had travelled. That guy, the one who was shot, sounds like a nasty piece of work. His name was Manny Pereira and apparently was a petty hoodlum as a boy. But, more recently he was acquitted of two different rape charges in Fall River, and was a person of interest in another around the same time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting. Go on.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So nobody is very sad that he’s dead, though they don’t like how it happened. Then, the other guy who was killed was actually Brazilian, though apparently he lived in this neighborhood for a few years so people remember him here. His name was D’Silva. One woman’s niece dated him briefly, and said he was from the state of Mato Grosso in Brazil. She thought he had a really nice accent."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted at that, then continued, “If I remember right from the documents I dug up Friday night, that’s the same state in Brazil where your guy Figueroa came from originally. And, that piqued my interest, though I know that’s really tenuous. After all, it’s kinda like assuming that I know everyone from the state of New Jersey.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just seemed like it, sometimes,” he said, amused, while processing what she’d told him. If what she said was true, it strongly hinted that the dead men Ranger was accused of shooting were actually Figueroa’s clean-up. It confirmed that Ranger hadn’t actually been thrown into the middle of a gang war, for what that was worth. And, it also highlighted that Figueroa—or someone with him—was willing to kill, but hadn’t killed Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ha ha, very funny,” Stephanie retorted to his jab about New Jersey, though Ranger could hear the amusement in her voice. “But wait, I almost forgot: D’Silva’s former girlfriend also said that he used to work at the bodega where you got nabbed, until he got fired for probably raiding the cash drawer. So he’d know that neighborhood.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The pieces clicked in Ranger’s mind, just as she said, “So, Ranger, I think they got you at that bodega because D’Silva knew that neighborhood, not necessarily because Figueroa is anywhere nearby.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded along with her words. He’d forgotten how astonishingly good Stephanie was at getting people to tell her exactly the details that mattered. And how she could put seemingly unrelated pieces together so quickly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That makes sense, Steph. I’m actually outside the bodega right now. I haven’t heard any Portuguese for well over two hours.” He put his seatbelt on while he spoke. “This is probably a dead end, so I’m going to pack it in for tonight.” He shook his head at the grinding sound the wheels made as he turned them to pull out of the on-street parking space. “It’s about 15 minutes to your place, right?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Probably more like 25 minutes, with the twisty roads and traffic lights. Then again, you might get all green lights. If you see a sign for the Jamaicaway, take it; it’s faster. But, Ranger, call if you get lost; the roads and street signs are confusing. It took me about a year before I stopped getting lost coming home from that direction.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He chuckled under his breath. “Thanks, Steph, will do,” he’d said, then ended the call. As he pulled into traffic he smirked, picturing her glaring with narrowed eyes at the phone in her hand. He could almost hear her railing against his bad phone manners. Focusing on the street signs as he drove, Ranger mused about these little moments of familiarity. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was surprisingly comfortable. Not at all like being around his family, whose intimate knowledge of him entwined with the barbed wire of their expectations and veiled disappointment. Instead, with Stephanie he sensed acceptance, even while she noted his idiosyncrasies. Even when she told him to get over himself. Maybe especially because she did. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remembered now that part of what had intrigued him was that, at her core, she wasn't afraid of him as a person. She would go buy guns with him, have dinner with him, be alone with him in his car, let him stay in her apartment, and basically agree to help him whenever he asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, she'd call him on his shit. It had been refreshing, since only a few people dared to talk back to him. Even fewer would deliberately joke with him the way she did. No other women, that's for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which was the other completely intriguing thing about her. Out of all the women he'd known, she was the only one who was fearless of him </span>
  <em>
    <span>until</span>
  </em>
  <span> he'd started putting the moves on her. And then she got skittish. It was the opposite of how virtually every other woman reacted to him. It had become a fun game when he'd first figured it out. Until it became more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a world that was drearily predictable, she was a puzzle. An addictive inconsistency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he finally pulled into her driveway, another brief, ironic smile traced across his lips. His car, a dinged-up Chevy, was noticeably crappier than hers. He barked out a laugh as he further noted that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>was the one driving a U.S. made car, not her. Could this be more ridiculously perfect? He got out of the car and headed up the walk to her house. To the home of his unresolved paradox. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Working the Room</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 7: Working the Room</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie was in the kitchen with Lisa and Mary Alice, pulling together dessert for the table, when she felt tingling at the back of her neck. A recently rediscovered feeling that had been missing for years. Ranger was nearby. At that moment, she heard the downstairs door close. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well versed in the creaks and clunks this old house made, she knew that if she were in the living room she’d hear Ranger coming up the stairs. People usually couldn’t avoid making a sound, even if they tip-toed up. Of course, since this was Ranger, maybe she wouldn’t hear him, after all. Probably he'd already mapped out all the creaking boards and squeaking stair joists so he could float over her stairs silently like a ghost.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you think that’s Ranger, mom?” Mary Alice asked. Though close to college age, she’d been as wide-eyed as a little girl when Stephanie had told her this morning that Ranger might be coming to stay with them for a few days.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think so, honey. We’ll know in a couple of minutes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa looked over at them both, “I don’t remember Ranger,” she said in her serious ten-year-old voice. She brushed a lock of her wispy, sandy-colored hair back from her forehead. She looked just like her father Albert at that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Alice smiled, “That’s because he was from Trenton. You were still a munchkin when we moved here.” Seeing Lisa’s glower, Mary Alice giggled. “Okay, you were only about three years old. You have to be at least seven before you’re allowed to meet someone like Ranger.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mary Alice,” Stephanie tapped her lightly with a serving spoon. “You’re making up pseudo rules again.” She turned the spoon and then held it out to Mary Alice. “Can you please finish getting dessert ready for me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sure mom,” Mary Alice answered, winking at Lisa. “We got this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we got this,” Lisa echoed, her face slightly flushed. Mary Alice flashed a broad grin at her sister and put her arm around her shoulder. Lisa smiled shyly in reply.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you both,” Stephanie smiled back and then headed into the dining room. Just as she entered she heard the clank of keys being set on the entry table by the front door. Her friend and neighbor Darius had pushed back from the dining room table to get a view of the front door, and started to get up. His brown eyes focused toward the front door with suspicion. Stephanie maneuvered through the cluttered room, squeezing behind Darius’s seat on her way to the living room. “Darius,” she said, putting her hands briefly on his shoulders, “stay put, it’s just my friend Ranger; I mentioned he was coming home for a late dinner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Darius replied as Stephanie felt him settle back into his seat, his large chestnut-hued hands ready-for-action on the table. To her, Darius was her kind-hearted friend who had become family over the years. They had a bond forged from doing favors for each other, seeing each other through difficult times, and helping with each other’s children.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie forgot sometimes that, at six-foot-four and 240 muscular pounds, Darius could instantly look formidable. As he was doing at the moment. She followed his angled gaze through the living room toward the front door, where she saw Ranger shrugging off his coat. She heard Darius murmur under his breath, “Well, I guess I see why you needed to borrow sweats that were extra large.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie patted her friend’s shoulders. “C’mon Darius, you were here when Randy Briggs visited for that job interview. I know people of all sizes and shapes.” She felt his shoulders move in a brief laugh and tapped him lightly again with her fingertips. Then she continued toward the door between the dining and living rooms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Arriving in that doorway at the same time as Ranger, Stephanie suddenly felt his presence as though she’d had a second soul slammed into her body. His physical closeness took her breath away. She could smell the soap he'd used this morning mingled with coffee and the scent she remembered as pure Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she stood next to his large frame in his heavy cargo pants, CAT boots, and thick cabled sweater, she was struck to her very core by how </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> he was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had stopped in the doorway, scanned quickly through the room, and then settled his gaze on her. His face was blank, though an expression flickered in his eyes for a brief moment. She couldn't tell, but perhaps it was simply exhaustion. The sound of clattering and muted voices came from the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Full house, Steph,” he said in a blankly ironic tone she remembered well. She suspected he was reacting to Darius, and Stephanie realized belatedly she should have told Ranger that Darius was here. Since Darius was family too, she hadn’t given his presence a second thought. But Darius knew that he was at home in her house; she had forgotten that Ranger didn’t yet feel that way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So she looked Ranger in the eyes and smiled her welcome. She reached out to take his hand in hers, feeling the pulse of energy that always came with his touch. “Ranger, I'm glad you made it home.” From experience, she knew to reach for his left hand, leaving his preferred weapons arm free. His hand was cold, but its stiffness was part of his overall posture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed his fingers slightly. “Ranger, this is Darius, the neighbor I mentioned. He’s a strength and conditioning coach for the football team at Boston College. His daughter Jaleesa is next to him, and then that’s Sarah, my youngest.” She heard a clunk and muttering from the kitchen. Shaking her head as she decided to not investigate, she added, “The sounds you hear in the kitchen are my next oldest girl, Lisa, along with Mary Alice.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded at the room, his face blank, his eyes settling on Darius. For his part, Darius had sat back in his chair. On the surface he looked relaxed, but experience told Stephanie that Darius’s position made it easier to spring out of his chair if needed. She had no doubt that Ranger was reading it that way, also. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Darius, this is Ranger.” Stephanie said, locking eyes with Darius across the table. “He was one of my best friends back in Trenton. I’m really glad that he’s staying with us for a few days,” she said, pointedly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Darius nodded back. “It’s always good to meet one of Steph’s friends. They visit a lot.” He paused, drawling, “I reckon I was away the last time you visited. I think I would’ve remembered.” Steph scowled at Darius, one degree away from her death glare. In her periphery she saw Ranger glance at her with a raised eyebrow, a speculative look in his eye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Perhaps you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were</span>
  </em>
  <span> away,” Ranger said in a low, quiet voice as his attention swiveled back to Darius. “Or, are you here for dinner every night?” Ranger’s posture had seemed to relax, but she knew it was a deceptive pose, like Darius’s. She’d never been able to figure out how Ranger managed to look relaxed while making his muscles seem even more bulky. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sheesh, she thought to herself, men were ridiculous sometimes. She almost expected them to spring antlers from their heads and start charging at each other. What they both needed to remember was that they were both welcome here because this was </span>
  <em>
    <span>her </span>
  </em>
  <span>house; her territory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the kitchen-side of the table, Darius's daughter Jaleesa looked wide-eyed at Sarah, who shrugged. Both nine years old, they had grown up as next door neighbors and best friends, often communicating in gestures rather than words. Jaleesa’s heart shaped face showed confusion under her mass of flaxen curls. Sarah’s hazel eyes were darting between the two men, as though trying to figure out where to place her bet.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, Stephanie thought to herself. Enough is enough.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tugged gently at Ranger’s hand, noting idly that the bandage was loose. “Come in, Ranger, sit down next to me. There's plenty of food left. Darius is just in a cranky mood because the Eagles lost in overtime.” She glared at Darius again. “And, Darius, my friends do visit. Ranger is here visiting. So, you didn’t miss him, after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, I can come back later,” Ranger said quietly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh? Ranger, don't be silly. Why would you leave? You just got here. You need to eat.” She pulled at his hand again, and this time he followed her. A slight, smile dusted across his lips briefly. “There’s baked chicken over potatoes, asparagus, carrots, salad, and it looks like there’s some bread left also. Or, we have some leftover beef stew we could heat in the microwave if you’d prefer that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, what you have looks fine,” he answered slowly, looking at the bowls and platter that she’d left on the table since Ranger was on his way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She transferred a clean plate, napkin, and silverware to the table, in front of the chair beside hers. Technically it was where Mary Alice had been sitting, but Stephanie knew that Mary Alice would roll with it. Ranger sat down when Stephanie did, and he started to fill his plate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stephanie poured Ranger a glass of water from the pitcher, Sarah piped up from the other side of the table. “Hello, Mr. Ranger,” she said in her nine-year-old voice, her fearless hazel eyes assessing Ranger from under her curly mop of Plum hair. “Mary Alice says that you're wicked cool, and that you could probably show me how to do the Aikido heaven-and-earth throw that I can't figure out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie felt Ranger shift his attention to Sarah. “You practice Aikido?” he asked as he levered a piece of chicken onto his fork. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, at the afterschool program. And Lisa and I both go swimming there, too.” She made a face. “And homework, they make us do that, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded as he swallowed. “Homework is good. Aikido is good, too. Teaches you how to pay attention to your surroundings so you can avoid confrontations, and how to use attackers’ energy against them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Sarah nodded, “and it’s fun.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s a good program,” Darius added, “I know their PhysEd director. He used to work part-time with me over in the BC athletic program.” Stephanie was grateful that he was obviously trying to smooth over the initial awkwardness between himself and Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger was about to reply when Mary Alice and Lisa appeared in the doorway. Mary Alice was balancing a tray with a large bowl of fruit and a can of Cool Whip, while Lisa carried a serving plate of puff pastries. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Greetings from the kitchen, earthlings,” Mary Alice said with her usual flourish as she concentrated on keeping her tray level. “Sorry for the delay, but we had a mishap with some rebel strawberries.” Lisa rolled her eyes while Mary Alice set the tray on the table. Lisa put down her plate while Mary Alice continued, “All adults in the room will be happy to know that the rebellion was completely mopped up and there’s no evidence left behind.” She looked up with a mischievous smile at Stephanie. Then her smile widened as she looked beyond Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, you’re Ranger!” Mary Alice exclaimed, “I mean, of course you are. But, you’re exactly how I remembered you. I knew you were going to be here, but this is so cool. I’m glad you’re going to stay with us,” she enthused, her face beaming. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie saw Ranger nod toward Mary Alice as he finished chewing. She knew that his calm expression was meant to put people at ease. Stephanie smiled to herself, knowing that it also meant that he felt more at ease in his surroundings.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m Mary Alice,” her daughter continued, breathless. “I don’t know if you remember me. I was a little kid, then. But you were mom’s friend. She always used to talk about you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa looked askance at her older sister, then shook her head as she started the platter of pastries around the table followed by the bowl of fruit from Mary Alice’s tray. Finally, she sat back down in her seat, with a put-upon huff that reminded Stephanie so much of her own mother that she almost laughed out loud.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger caught Stephanie’s eyes for a moment, then looked back at Mary Alice. “I remember you, too, Mary Alice,” he said thoughtfully. “It’s nice to see you.” Then, he added with a wrinkle between his brows, “But, I didn’t really know your mom very well….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie interjected softly. “She means me, not Val.” Ranger’s expression cleared as Mary Alice pulled out a spare chair next to Darius and sat down, a smile still on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So, you’ve obviously met Mary Alice,” Stephanie said with a smile. “This is Lisa on my other side, who baked the pastries for us tonight.” As Lisa looked up from spooning fruit over one of her pastries, Stephanie met her gaze and said, “Lisa, this is my friend Ranger from back in Trenton. He’s the friend I told you about, who’ll be staying with us for a few days.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Lisa said, leaning forward for the Cool Whip as she looked over at Ranger, a wisp of sandy hair falling across her cheek. “Nice to meet you.” She paused slightly. “You have big muscles.” At that, Darius burst out laughing, along with Mary Alice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lisa,” Stephanie exclaimed, trying to hide her own amusement. “Is that how I taught you to greet people? ‘Hi, nice to meet you, you have big muscles’?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she said that, she reached out to tousle Lisa’s sandy blonde hair and mouthed a kiss, so the serious-minded girl would know she was being teased. Thank heavens Lisa hadn’t picked up the Kloughn family habit of dithering, though she definitely had their propensity for blurting out awkward observations. Stephanie glanced at Ranger, and was relieved that he looked amused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not to worry, Steph,” Ranger said with a slight smirk. “She’s just calling ‘em as she sees ‘em.” He reached out for his glass of water. “At least she didn’t say what big teeth I have.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Stephanie started laughing, and even Lisa chuckled a bit. Stephanie hugged Lisa briefly, then reached over to start making her own dessert. She noted that, as usual, Mary Alice, Sarah, and Darius were just having fruit, while Jaleesa was doing make-your-own fruit pastry along with Lisa and Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking over, she noticed that Ranger had finished eating already. There weren’t even crumbs left behind. At her gesture, he declined seconds, but then reached for a dessert plate. To her astonishment, he lifted a pastry to his plate, and then spooned fruit over it. He looked at Stephanie and winked, of all things. Then he tilted his head to look at Lisa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Lisa. I don’t get dessert every day. No matter what anyone says, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>is the perfect welcome.” He then proceeded to slice a forkful of pastry and fruit, and began eating.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie looked over at Lisa, whose face indicated that she’d found a new hero. Amused and also grateful for Lisa’s happiness, Stephanie thought “Ranger strikes again.” She’d forgotten how Ranger could unexpectedly flash from his hard-man exterior into moments that were so gracious that it took her breath away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie started eating her own dessert, sighing audibly in the back of her throat in satisfaction. She noticed Darius and Ranger both shifting in their seats, so tried to tamp down her enthusiasm. Her attention was pulled back by Mary Alice, who piped up, “Mom, I forgot to tell you,” she said around a mouthful of fruit. “I managed to scrounge up a few more tickets, so I can have five people at the finals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wow, that’s great news,” Stephanie answered. She turned to Ranger, “Mary Alice’s soccer team won the regional and eastern state championships this year, and is going to play in the state finals in two weeks.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Mary Alice said, dancing in her chair, “this old high-school sweatshirt, it’s like my good-luck Letter Sweater. Today’s game was like a victory lap.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darius swatted her shoulder. “Now, you know, it’s not good to get too ahead of yourself. Your head swells up and you just get careless. And, don’t you forget that it’s the whole team that keeps you in the game, not one player.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, Coach Butler,” Mary Alice answered with mock seriousness. Then she added, “But I did try that spin-out thing you showed me, and it was awesome. I totally took the other team by surprise.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He smiled at her. “Now you’re just buttering me up. But, it’s true that people don’t expect you to run football routes on a soccer field. When you get to the college level, though, tricks like that won’t get you as far. It’s perspiration and teamwork all the way, baby girl.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know. But I’m looking forward to it. The U-Mass freshman coach was at the game today, and I really like her. I’m going to enjoy playing there.” Mary Alice said, finishing the last bite of her dessert. “It's totally wicked that I'll get paid to go to college just because I like to run around in shin pads and kick a soccer ball. Now I just have to choose a major,” she laughed at herself as she slid back from the table, grabbing empty plates as she went.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie felt Ranger leaning close. “Babe, did I keep you away from her game, today?” he asked quietly, under the sound of the conversation continuing around the table.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled and looked at Ranger, putting her hand on his forearm, “No, not to worry. It was a late afternoon game. I even had time to go grocery shopping after I dropped you off, and still got there before the first kick.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, “Good,” and his eyes looked from her to the kitchen door. Even more quietly, he added, “I do remember her, you know. You’ve done a good job.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That pleased her more than she could say, so she just squeezed his arm lightly. “Thank you,” she said, feeling again how her heart used to take flight when he’d say “Proud of you Babe.” This was even better.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw the smile in his eyes as he looked back at her, his face only inches from hers. He put his hand over hers, tentatively at first; then she felt him squeeze lightly back. She could see the shadows under his eyes and the start of his five-o’clock shadow. She noticed for the first time that he’d developed a fine grid of wrinkles in the outer corners of his eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, up-close, she could see just the slightest start of gray in the hair around his temples. Well, she thought, that was something they had in common. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wondered what he saw as he looked back at her, his face mirroring her. She knew her hair was still a wild brown mess. And that people thought that the thin ribbons that had faded to blonde were a style statement rather than the simple passage of time. Overall, she thought she looked younger than her thirty seven years, but didn’t worry much about it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure how long they remained like that, looking at each other as though for the first time. After awhile, though, their hands released and Stephanie found herself back in the conversation. She was aware of Ranger watching her, though he didn’t say much. It just felt right that he was there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After awhile, the conversation lulled and Darius stretched back. “Well, I think it’s time for me and Jaleesa to head back next door.” He looked at Stephanie, “Thanks for looping Jah into the day with your family. Game days are crazy for all us coaches,” he smiled broadly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s always a pleasure,” Stephanie said as she put her hands on the table and stood up. Without thinking about it, she reached out a hand to cover Ranger’s shoulder, and felt him still under her touch. She smiled at him, happy again just to see him, and then looked back across the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie continued speaking. “And Darius, I know for a fact that Sarah’s Grandma Kloughn loves to see Jaleesa, too. She asks about her all the time.” She squeezed Ranger’s shoulder lightly and then stepped back to scoot around the table, following Jaleesa, who held out a hand for Stephanie. She smiled down at the little girl and then walked with her, following Darius and Sarah toward the front door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Once there, Jaleesa released Stephanie’s hand and stretched out her arms like a starfish as her father helped her with her coat. His large hands then pushed a fleece hat over her flax-colored, corkscrew curls. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darius stood up and glanced back toward the dining room. “Steph, tell your friend Ranger he can keep the sweats; I have plenty more where those came from.” He smiled, then added, “Since you have company, are you still interested in joining me for church tomorrow? We can wait until next week.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie thought about it for a moment, but her instincts told her that Ranger didn’t want to feel that he was disrupting her life. That his willingness to stay with her might be partly contingent on that. So, she smiled back at Darius and answered, “Of course we’re still joining you. See you tomorrow morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Lisa from the dining room door, “Will we get out in time for lunch, like last time?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Darius laughed as Stephanie looked back to see Lisa entering the room, with Ranger behind her. “Now you know we will,” Darius said, “I go to a church where we know how to properly worship the lord. Services start late enough so people can get over whatever mischief they started on Saturday night,” he said as he shrugged on his own coat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We give exuberant and righteous praise to our Maker, as is His due, and the morning service ends early enough so everyone can share from the buffet line.” He winked at Stephanie and added in a low voice, “And so the pastor doesn’t lose any of the day’s ministry or Holy Spirit to people sneaking out for football on the big screen at home.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed, “Call us when you’re getting ready to leave tomorrow and we’ll be ready.” She stood back as Sarah pushed past her to hug her friend Jaleesa goodnight. Darius leaned over and told Stephanie, “Your friend Ranger is welcome to come, too. The lord has a big house.” He paused, adding mischievously, “And, Sister Ursula sets a big Fellowship spread after the service since the Lord’s work is hungry work.” He laughed again and then turned to the door, herding Jaleesa out and down the steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good night,” Stephanie called out as she closed the apartment door. She turned back to the living room. “Okay, Sarah and Lisa, time to start getting ready for bed.” She paused, seeing Ranger still hovering in the dining room doorway. “Ranger, I’ll be a few minutes. Please make yourself at home. You can stay up, head to sleep, have more dessert… whatever works.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard his bark of laughter as she herded the two younger girls toward the stairs. Halfway up, Sarah balked. “Why can’t Jaleesa do a sleepover? Why does she have to leave?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Because, honey, she only gets to stay with her father every-other weekend, so they want to spend some time together. You got to spend all day with her, so that was really special.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t like Jaleesa’s mommy. She shouldn’t have moved and taken Jaleesa away.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie sighed, feeling Sarah’s small hand tugging at her pants leg. “Honey, I know how you feel, but you can’t say things like that to Jaleesa. Both of her parents still love her, and she needs to feel that it’s okay to love both of them equally. We don’t want to make her feel that she has to defend one over the other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It just doesn’t seem fair.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, honey, but sometimes we can’t fix what’s unfair. Instead, try to be grateful that Uncle Darius is happy to have her spend some of her weekend time with us. And, we’ll see her tomorrow at church.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s good,” Sarah admitted, her face unclenching. “And, I’m happy that she gets to be with Uncle Darius, too.” At that, Sarah reached her hand over to grasp Stephanie’s and then started pulling them both upstairs. “I guess that I wish it was like before. But, I know we’ll stay best friends forever, even if we don’t live next door anymore. Just like how you and Aunt Mary Lou—and even you and Mr. Ranger—stayed friends even though you aren’t in Trenton anymore.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard Mary Alice start up the stairs behind her, “Mom, I got this. I’m ready to call it a night, too, so I can lead the Ewoks through all the bedtime rituals.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom,” Lisa implored from the upstairs landing, “come upstairs with us so she doesn’t make us pretend we’re on the forest moon of Endor, again.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling Sarah’s hand tugging her, Stephanie laughed, “Ranger,” she called down, “I may be awhile.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Take your time, Steph. I’m all set.” She heard the sounds of dishes being moved on the dining room table, and figured he was making space to work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>About thirty minutes later Stephanie headed back downstairs, having accompanied Sarah and Lisa in the steps leading to bedtime and after a brief nighttime chat with Mary Alice. Halfway down, she heard a phone ringing in her purse on the table near the TV. She could tell from the ringtone that it was her unlisted phone, the number she gave to people to use anonymously. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She dashed over to the table and opened her purse. Fishing out the phone, she saw it was coming from a blocked number. “Hello, this is Stephanie Plum.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey Steph, it’s Joe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey, I forgot you had this number. What’s up?” She answered as she rounded into the dining room, on her way to the kitchen, where she could see Ranger looking at her from the kitchen table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, sorry I’m calling so late. Well, not really sorry given the hour you called me this morning, though I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>bummed that I only just got back from a baby shower, of all things.” She snorted, remembering how he hated those types of events. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow Steph,” Joe continued, “I did some digging like you asked. There definitely is something odd going on, but only a couple of the anomalies mesh with Ranger’s skip, thus far.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait a sec, let me put you on speaker.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh wait. Let me guess.” His wry voice said, “Ranger’s there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup, got it in one.” As she answered, Ranger pushed away the laptop on the kitchen table, his eyebrow raised. She noted peripherally that Ranger had cleared the dining room and tidied the kitchen while she’d been upstairs. She looked theatrically around the room and mouthed “thank you.” At the same time, she tapped the button to activate the external speaker and put it on the table. “Okay, you’re on speaker. What did you find?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, there’s not much yet, so don’t get too excited.” Joe said, his voice slightly tinny on the speaker, “But, you’re right that there are odd blocks on information that would otherwise seem innocuous. That’s suspicious on its own, since these guys don’t seem like informants or witness protection candidates. Since they’re all from overseas, I’m going to try an end-around using my new, direct Interpol access.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Joe spoke, Ranger had sat forward in his chair, his back straight, his dark eyes focusing between Stephanie and the phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stephanie, is that Morelli?” Ranger stared directly at Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger, that’s Joe. I bumped into some unusual system restrictions in my searches and he agreed to help me, off the books.” She sat down at the table and stared back at Ranger, meeting him stare-for-stare. “He thinks you’re innocent, too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph,” Joe interjected from the phone. “I wouldn’t go that far.” He chuckled darkly. “Let’s just say I’m willing to follow your instincts when it comes to law-enforcement types who get found unconscious in incriminating circumstances, conveniently near a murder weapon.” He paused, “It gives me this weird déjà vu. It’s kinda like remembering jock itch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks, Joe, that’s a great image that you’ve just shared with us.” She sighed, deciding to ignore Ranger scowling in his chair. Instead, she focused on Joe’s voice as he continued speaking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always there for you, Steph. Anyhow, the name Mirko Krc sounded familiar. Then I remembered a guy named Marco Kirk—with several aliases including Mark Carrack and Micky the K—on the New Jersey State Police blotter. But, given the nasty facial scar that Ranger told you about, it’s gotta be the same guy. He’s wanted for boosting high-end cars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe snorted, “Now, that’s a ‘dime-a-dozen’ kind of perp here in Jersey. Christ, if I locked them all up, Giovichinni’s would go out of business and I’d never be able to get my car detailed again.” Joe paused as Stephanie laughed. “But,” Joe continued, “since he sounded like one of the guys in Ranger’s list, I dug a bit further into his case file.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger leaned forward again, his intensity shifting the center of balance in the room. “Continue,” he said, slowly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Joe answered, “apparently this guy was under surveillance for several months. They’d followed him to Princeton; then suddenly he disappeared.” He chuckled sardonically, “When they went into the warehouse where he was last seen, they did manage to nab two Newark-based accomplices red-handed with three Maseratis, an Audi S8, and a Jag XF. So the Auto-Theft Task Force pulled out the marshmallows and sang </span>
  <em>
    <span>Kumbaya </span>
  </em>
  <span>afterward.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe paused again, obviously to take sip of something. “But, if I read the reports right, Krc was the lead in that operation. And he disappeared from New Jersey two weeks ago, around the same time as that Aburek guy you mentioned went missing from Portland.” Joe was interrupted by the sound of barking in the background, followed by a slamming door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“By the way, Steph” Joe said, “Today’s free advice: If you thought Bob was hyper, never get a Border Collie puppy.” Stephanie snorted and saw what almost looked like Ranger rolling his eyes. She knew that couldn’t be it, but it was an amusing thought, anyway.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Joe,” Stephanie answered, “I’ve noted ‘Border Collie’ right under ‘Pony’ in my list of non-pets.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, seriously, put ‘Border Collie’ above ‘Pony’. Regarding Krc, this may be a complete coincidence. But, from that same weekend that he disappeared, there’s a report on my desk of a semi-trailer dump truck that went missing from a construction site up in Perth Amboy. That’s on a main route Krc might have followed if he went to Maine or Massachusetts. And since he’d been boosting cars with electronic keys, the truck would be child’s play.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Ranger said, “though low correlation.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, but Ranger, here’s something else you should know. During the week that you told Steph that that guy Figueroa was in Maine—the week after that truck disappeared—a Portland-based construction company reported the theft of two blasting assemblies sized for demolition of buildings or large bridges, along with some I-beams. They would’ve needed something with long payload capacity to carry them, like a semi-trailer truck.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe paused for another sip, then continued, “I got that one through the regular interstate wire. No clue if there’s a connection, but the coincidences keep piling up.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe paused again, and Stephanie looked at Ranger. She was reminded of a show she’d watched with Mary Alice about the statues on Easter Island. At the moment, Stephanie had the sense she was looking at one of them. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally Ranger nodded. “Morelli,” he said, his voice low, “you need to be careful who you discuss this with.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Always good to chat with you, too, Ranger.” Joe answered, his voice dry. “You’re welcome.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not kidding, Morelli.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Joe sighed audibly on the other end. “Yeah, Ranger, and you were always known for your humor so I was confused about that.” Stephanie rolled her eyes heavenward with a sigh, but then Joe continued in a matter-of-fact tone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, I’ve learned a few tricks over the years. Given the blocks that Steph mentioned, and what I saw immediately with my access levels, I can tell there’s something strange going on. So, I mixed my searches in with a bunch of other queries to make it look like I’m looking for a multi-national stolen car ring. Tomorrow I’m planning to add some searches to mix it up a bit more. And the next time I call, I’ll be on a different burner phone.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a grudging nod, Ranger answered, “Good thinking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie knew Joe well enough that now she knew he was definitely rolling </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay.” Joe finally answered. “So, Steph, now you owe me, in addition to owing Amanda for this morning. When you’re here over the holidays I’m taking her out for a nice dinner, and you’re babysitting Angelina. And, you’re not allowed to encourage her to fly. I don’t care how much she says she wants to be TinkerBell.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted. “Joe, you can’t encourage someone to fly. It’s something a person decides to do on their own. If it helps, I think Angelina is as unlikely to want to fly as Angie.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good news,” he chuckled. “Alright Steph, I’ll talk to you later. Stay safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You too, Joe, take care.” She ended the call and looked at Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger sat unmoving, staring blankly at her for at least a minute. Finally, he asked, “Why Morelli?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She wasn’t sure what he was asking, so she went with her gut. “Because I trust him, Ranger. He’s smart. He doesn’t particularly like you, but he’s the person who reached out to tell me that you were in jail, and that the arrest specifics looked odd.” She saw Ranger raise his eyebrow at that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached out and put her hand over his, briefly, on the table. “He cares that justice is done, and he’s very careful. He won’t do anything to risk his family or mine.” Ranger looked at her, speculatively. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed his hand, adding softly, “Ranger, at our core, we are who we are. But, a lot can change in seven years, too.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Getting the Rest</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 8: Getting the Rest</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger looked at Stephanie across the kitchen table, keeping his face immobile while he considered her words. It was late; he was exhausted. It had been one of the longest Saturdays of his life. But she was right to say that seven years could change people. He knew that was true for himself. After all, he didn’t live in New Jersey anymore. He had finally listened to his deep-seated drive to be independent and shaped his work around it, walking away from his constant fight with the image of who he was supposed to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, let’s face it: Despite still maintaining a solid physique and blessed with faster-than-usual reflexes, he’d started to see flecks of gray in his temples and the scars and healed fractures were starting to add up. Seven years could make those types of changes too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, he wondered what she meant tonight. Aware of the irony, he wondered if she knew how baffled he sometimes was by what she said. He remembered how Steph had sometimes demanded a dictionary of what “Babe” meant. Yet, she’d always picked up his meaning. She was unerring. Amused, he’d experimented to see just how many things he could express with just that one word, “Babe.” She’d always gotten it; she never disappointed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steph was more mysterious. Ranger had learned that there could be a world of meaning hidden behind her comments. Though he might understand the surface meaning, any single word she spoke could hide a labyrinth of Stephanie-specific associations. He was patient and also a skilled interrogator. So, she eventually would reveal enough for him to tease out the deeper meaning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, fortunately, her charming habit of mumbling to herself was like the gift of subtitles in a foreign movie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, sometimes she’d blithely reveal things that floored him with the power she’d handed him. Even knowing his ability to apply pressure, she’d repeatedly given him everything he needed to manipulate her. On more than one occasion he’d told her, point blank, that she was revealing information to the enemy and she’d just shrugged. He’d often wondered if it was intentional; give him the power so she wouldn’t have to use it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, which one was this? What the hell did she mean by saying that a lot could change in seven years? As often with Stephanie, it seemed simple enough on the surface. But, her face was so earnest; her eyes were steady on his. Was she trying to signal something deeper? If so, did he really want to know? Damn it, he was way too tired for this type of mental crap.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he sat, he felt the feather-light tingle of her hand on his as it gently anchored his palm to the table. He felt a corresponding warmth washing through his entire body, pooling in his groin in a way that was not helping him think clearly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Okay, so some things obviously hadn’t changed. She still seemed to trust her own instincts over the objective facts of the situation. Sardonically, he mused that this was certainly fortunate for him, as he sat in the warmth of her house having eaten the first home-cooked dinner he’d had in weeks. She still moaned while eating dessert in a way that made grown men at her table need to adjust their junk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, while he’d gazed at her over the table tonight, he’d been confused about who Stephanie Plum really was. On the surface, he catalogued a confident woman with kind features and a still-youthful expression. Despite everything, life had given her slight laugh-wrinkles around her eyes. Or, perhaps, she’d seized that happiness with the willfulness he knew she possessed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a flash of memory to his youth, to the jasmines in his Abuela Mañoso’s yard in Miami. Abuela had taught him to find the stem when the flower was a rounded bud, pent-up and ready to open. Ranger still remembered the clean scent and the graceful swell at the end of each branch. And then, the heady perfume and self-contained sensuality of the fully opened flower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Stephanie he’d seen tonight was full-flower and belonged in that dining room, with those people. But yet, he clearly saw the spirited, impish Bombshell Bounty Hunter peering through her electric blue eyes. He saw the flower before it had opened; he saw his Babe, and it took all his discipline to not simply call her that and then kiss her lips for grounding as he’d done so many times, years ago. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, this life was nothing like how she’d lived when he’d known her. Ranger had tried to stay honest with her, reminding her that she’d want the kids and the white picket fence eventually. Perhaps he’d been right, after all. Perhaps he, himself, had been part of what kept her from it for so long. Was that what she was trying to tell him? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Was she trying to tell him that she’d moved beyond him, the way she’d finally moved beyond having Morelli directly in her life? But, no, Morelli clearly was still part of her life, even after that dickwad had left her for another woman. Maybe she was showing him that Ranger could be in the ex-lover zone along with Morelli, all of them happily toasting each others’ new loves like a bunch of college girlfriends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she was telling him that her affections had shifted to her neighbor Darius. Ranger had seen how comfortable Darius was in her home. And frankly he’d been taken aback at the way Darius’s Jaleesa almost looked like she could be Steph’s child. With the girl’s milk-tea complexion and amber eyes she balanced curly-haired Sarah, who resembled Steph so strongly that it was like getting punched in the heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Steph had always shown a predilection for large, fit men. It hadn’t been lost on Ranger that Darius resembled his old comrade Bobby Brown, though with a short simple ’fro instead of cornrows. Ranger had never thought Steph was interested in Bobby, but who the hell knew what had happened when he’d left Trenton for that year. He did know for certain, though, that he wouldn’t be wearing those loaned sweatclothes anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe she was saying “Be comfortable in my house, Ranger, but don’t get too comfortable.” Or, perhaps that was what he was saying to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He mentally shook himself. This really shouldn’t matter, he thought with impatience. He was clearly over-tired. If he was going to lose himself in speculation, he should at least wait until he was goddamn awake and had gotten the drugs flushed from his system. And maybe until he’d gotten Steph to give him more specifics.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shifted slightly and spotted his gun tucked away on the chair next to him, where he'd concealed it after removing it from the small of his back. Yes, he thought to himself, he should also remember that </span>
  <em>
    <span>this </span>
  </em>
  <span>told who he was: A man who always had a gun in close reach. A man with a lifestyle that could leave a woman waiting for years with no word. No matter her vitality and allure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment, Stephanie gently pulled her hand away and started to push away from the kitchen table. “Well, Ranger, it’s time for me to go to sleep. You’re welcome to stay up as long as you want. You don’t have to get up with us in the morning, though Darius did invite you to church as he was leaving.  But anyway, consider yourself at home.” She smiled at him, the smile of simple pleasure that he remembered, even in his dreams. “Like I said before Ranger, you’re family.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Without thinking, he reached back out for her hand. "Steph, you have quite a family,” he said.</span>
  
</p><p>
  <span>Her smile turned rueful, though her eyes were laughing. “Well, it’s not all sweetness and light. But most days are good, and I’m lucky to have all the help that I do,” she said, settling back in her chair. “And, I’m really lucky that the girls are all such sweet kids.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think you had a pretty strong hand in that, Babe.” He mentally contrasted tonight’s dinner with the few times he’d eaten at the Plum house in Trenton. Unbidden, he also thought of how dinner with his sister Celia’s brood was uncomfortably similar to how Ranger remembered the emotionally freighted childhood meals at their parents’ table in Newark. In contrast, Steph had charted her own course. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Ranger, but when you’re raising a village, it takes a village. I’ve had Mrs. Arshad downstairs to watch the girls when I’m not here. She was daycare for Lisa and Sarah until they started school. Mr. and Mrs. Kloughn pick the girls up from school and have them sleep-over every other weekend.” While she spoke, Ranger felt her hand turn and lightly grasp his, in return. “And even my dad lived with us the first couple years I was here. We all show the girls how to be ‘family’ together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t sell yourself short, Steph.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A shy look flickered across her face. “Thanks Ranger,” Stephanie looked down at the table, toward where their hands were joined on the table. Her eyes darkened. “After my mother died, Albert’s parents offered to take all four girls when they saw how overwhelmed I was. Especially when they found out that we had almost no money.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie looked back at Ranger, her expression going from sad to determined. “But, that wasn’t right. Val and Albert could have chosen the Kloughns as their guardians in their will, but they named me instead. They wanted me to take the girls. I had to figure out how to pull it together. So, even though I know that I’m lucky to have a great support system, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am </span>
  </em>
  <span>proud of the life we’ve made together.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m proud of you, too, Steph.” Ranger watched as her face infused with happiness. Or perhaps it was gratitude. He felt himself smile at her, possibly the first smile of genuine pleasure he’d had in recent memory. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Ranger. I won’t lie, though.” She smiled wryly at him, “If you open the freezer you’ll see a small convention of Ben and Jerry’s. And, they’re all lined up, waiting in there for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He barked out a laugh at that reminder of his Babe and her methods for fast-tracking herself back to happiness. He was beyond exhausted, but something had clicked in what she said earlier. “Steph, why didn’t you have any money? I know that Vinnie didn’t pay much, but I thought Albert had some type of trust fund. And, what about child support?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You knew about Albert’s trust fund?” He nodded, realizing that perhaps he’d just revealed that he’d done a background check on almost everyone who’d come into Steph’s orbit back in Trenton. She just shook her head. “Well, of course, you always knew everything about everyone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She sighed. “After the will was read and I met with the bank, we found out that Albert had been making ends meet by liquidating the principal of that trust fund his grandfather left him. I don’t know what Val was thinking, insisting they rent that big house outside the Burg and buy new furniture. They were beyond broke.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head again, and continued, “And, child support. Please!” She puffed out a breath, and then continued in a quieter voice, “I mean, I don’t say this around Angie or Mary Alice, but the best thing I can say about their father Steve is that he was a drive-by sperm donor.” Ranger flinched internally at that description, thinking that probably also described how his ex-wife Rachel thought of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Steph’s face darkened, “I haven’t heard from him since a few months after Val died, and good riddance. He didn’t bother with anything like a condolence letter. Instead, he had the stones to have his lawyer write me a letter reminding me that he didn’t have alimony or child-support responsibilities anymore. What a total dork!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he looked into Stephanie’s furious face, he made sure to leave his hand gentle as it continued to encircle hers. “Why no child support?” Ranger asked, keeping his face calm, though he was baffled. It would never occur to him to stop support for his daughter Julie, no matter what happened with Rachel. Shit, if something happened to Rachel and Ron, Ranger knew he’d drop everything to help Julie and all of Ron’s children, too.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, it was Val’s divorce settlement. It said that if she married again, both alimony and child support payments would stop. Who signs an agreement like that when you caught your husband </span>
  <em>
    <span>shtupping </span>
  </em>
  <span>the babysitter? With witnesses! What was she thinking? What was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Albert </span>
  </em>
  <span>thinking?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. “When I finally told the Kloughns about Albert’s almost-gone trust fund and Steve’s letter, it was the final straw. They practically shoved us in a truck and drove us up here themselves.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger squeezed her hand lightly. Furious on her behalf, he wished he could travel back in time to beat bloody sense into both Val’s ex-husband and Albert. Even back then he’d known Albert was an idiot, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Val’s first husband wasn’t taking care of his family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger acknowledged to himself, though, that he had been part of Steph’s life when Val had gotten divorced and then married again. Knowing how addled her relatives were, that would have been a good time to man-up to make sure that Steph’s interests were covered. Not just when they appeared in her life, but as time went on. The way he’d have done for a long-term client.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d had the ability; apparently he simply hadn’t bothered. Perhaps it hadn't seemed </span>
  <em>
    <span>heroic</span>
  </em>
  <span> enough to protect her in the background, he concluded with disgust.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, with that thought, he also wanted to go back in time and beat himself senseless for being as much of an idiot as Val's two husbands. He visualized cracking a few of his younger self’s ribs, breaking his arrogant youthful nose, and finishing with a nasty street-fighting kick to the balls. Perversely it made him feel better, though he was well aware that his inner battle had no redemptive effect whatsoever. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He realized that Steph had gone silent and that her hand sat motionless in his. He saw that she was looking into the distance, a pensive expression on her face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph,” he said, keeping his voice level, “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. I would have helped you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nodded vaguely but continued to look away. Ranger wasn’t sure why, but he deeply wanted her to answer. He’d analyze it later; for now he contented himself to move his thumb against the back of her knuckles. Meant as a way to comfort her, Ranger realized that it also brought a level of balance to his mood. He noticed how small yet firm her hand looked in his; how her tendons were a bit more prominent than he remembered.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie nibbled discreetly on the side of her lip. Then, she took a deep breath and looked up. “Thank you, Ranger.” She smiled gently. “I guess there’s a lot of water under that bridge, by now. But, I totally believe that you would have swooped in to help me, as you always did.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She squeezed his hand gently, her fingers warm. “But here’s the thing, Ranger. I’ll be honest. Having money back then would have helped. A lot. But, if I'd had enough money, maybe I wouldn’t have reached out for the help I </span>
  <em>
    <span>really </span>
  </em>
  <span>needed. Let’s face it: I went from being a rebellious daughter to a single mother of four grieving children in the space of a few weeks. I had to figure out how to be a responsible parent and raise a family.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He watched her posture relax and her face lighten as she smiled self-consciously at him, “I had a lot to learn.” She squeezed his hand again, “So it all worked out, Ranger, in the end.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt an odd twinge of sorrow that she so clearly thought his help would only have been monetary. But, thinking back, she was probably right. The dividing lines he’d drawn in his life had been very clear to him. After Rachel, he’d known there was no way he was suburban husband and dad material. When viewed from his side, that white picket fence he’d described to Steph was more like an electrified, barbed wire barricade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, hard as it was to admit to himself, Stephanie hadn’t needed him after all. He guessed he shouldn’t be surprised; he’d always marveled at her resourcefulness, at her resilience. Though she may have looked to him for rescue, she never really </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed </span>
  </em>
  <span>him emotionally the way other women always had. Frankly, that had been part of his fascination with her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He thought back: He’d arrive at the scene after someone bombed her car. She’d sit on the curb with her head on knees, looking lost for about five minutes. Then a determined look would wash over her face and she was ready to go. He’d show up when someone was stalking her, taking shots—or leaving body parts for her, for Christ’s sake. She’d reach out for Ranger to hold her, shudder and sigh, and then tilt her chin up. All set. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d even loaned </span>
  <em>
    <span>him </span>
  </em>
  <span>her ability to rebound. Most specifically, Ranger remembered when that asswipe Scrog had breached his defenses, kidnapped his daughter, and damn-near killed both Steph and him. Despite Ranger’s years as an Army Ranger and security expert, and the hard-ass image he’d cultivated, a failed mall cop had almost taken everything.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had still been stunned, trying to process that monumental failure at the point Steph had come to visit him after the hospital. He’d thought he was covering it well, but Steph had rarely paid attention to surface appearance or his boundaries. He’d seen the momentary concern on her face. Then, chin up, she smiled at him, flashed those long legs, chattered inconsequentially, fed him cake, and convinced his heart that all could be right with his world again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, no wonder she’d built a new life when the old one came crashing down. No wonder she could kindly excuse his absence during such a trial. He wasn’t yet sure if he could, but that was for him to figure out. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She interrupted his thoughts with a gently ironic laugh. “Ranger,” she smiled and squeezed his hand again, “Who would ever have guessed that I’d end up being the most practical person in my family?” Her laughter broke the ice, and he felt his tension lift. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, think about it. Who else would it be?” Ranger ran through Steph’s family in his mind, and decided she really was the only candidate, even given the wackiness her life usually entailed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her laughter bubbled along his awareness like champagne. “Too funny, Ranger, but you’re right. I always thought it would be Val, but jeez. The more I found out about Saint Val, the nutsier she was. I mean, she had no money but she had a closet stuffed full of Home Shopping Network collectables and those expensive American Girl dolls, still in their shipping boxes,” she said rolling her eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking her head, she muttered, “I never looked at my Macy’s habit the same way, again, that’s for sure.” Then she snorted and looked back up at Ranger. “What else? Oh yeah, she fed her lactose-intolerant husband and daughter milk with every meal so they burped and farted like ‘the little engine that could.’ She let Mary Alice eat like a horse for over a year, when I got her to stop in two weeks.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really glad Mary Alice isn’t doing that anymore,” he said sincerely. “How did you get her to stop?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie giggled, “I told Mary Alice that, if she was a horse, she had to eat their food. The father of someone at work still has a farm out in Natick. So they gave me a bale of hay, which I put in the kitchen with a big Walmart tub of oats. Every meal that’s what she got, along with a metal bowl of tap water and an unpeeled carrot or apple. Then, I'd serve her favorite dinners, but wouldn’t let her have any because it was unhealthy food for a horse. We even looked up ‘horse digestion’ together on the Internet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger started to chuckle, wishing he had been around to see it happen. Stephanie continued with an impish look on her face, “I even put the stuff in baggies for her school lunch. It was so gross that she couldn’t trade it to anyone for real food. Not even the weird boy who collected mouse droppings. And, it turned out that Angie hated the habit too, so wouldn’t let Mary Alice swap food. She totally snapped after her second Sunday dinner of hay-and-oats.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie started to laugh along with Ranger, finally pulling her hand out of his as she stretched in her chair. He couldn’t help but note how her sweater tightened delicately over her chest as she moved, but he forced himself to focus on her eyes. “Ranger, I need to go to sleep, and I don’t know how you’re still awake. I’m going to take a shower, and then the bathroom’s all yours.” She pushed herself up from the table. Resting one hand on his shoulder as she starting walking past him to the hallway door, she added, “Don’t forget to put a fresh bandage on your knuckles.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her over his shoulder. He quickly dismissed his first impulse, which was to smile in the way that used to stupefy her and say something to make her eyes glaze over. For example, that he knew plenty of things he could do with his fingers that didn’t require knuckles at all. Or, that maybe a kiss was all it needed to make it all better. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His brain might be shorting out from exhaustion, but he wasn’t suicidal. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He did, though, miss the banter they used to have. Thinking quickly through his fog, he smirked slightly and said, “Steph, a roughed-up bandage is good. Helps me scare the crap out of the bad guys without having to actually speak.” Eyebrow raised, he kept his face otherwise impassive, waiting for it.... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, you’re impossible,” she rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. He heard her mumble “Ranger humor,” and he felt his lips quirk up in a smile. That was the Babe he remembered. He waited for the death glare. Five, four, three… And, there it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, go ahead and smile.” She whacked him again and then resumed her stomp back to the hallway beyond the kitchen. “And when your left hand turns purple and falls off because you kept a cootie-covered bandage on it, and you spend the rest of your life looking like Edward Scissorhands, who will be laughing then, huh?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He truly had missed this. He never could guess what she’d say, even if he knew how to tease reactions from her. He saw from the corner of his eye that she had stopped in the doorway to face him, hands on her hips. He turned in his chair, letting his amusement show, “Steph, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>would never laugh at Edward Scissorhands.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah. Fine,” she said, mumbling something under her breath. She spun in the doorway, headed down the hallway toward her bedroom. Ranger heard a clunk, and then, “Ow.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You okay, Babe?” He started to get out of his chair, his body reacting even before his mind engaged. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I'm fine, stay put,” he heard through the doorway, so sat back down. He heard her chuckle and the sound of her footsteps. “The leaning hallway of Plum got me again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He felt himself smile. “I thought you said you don’t even notice it after awhile.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she answered back, and he heard what sounded like a drawer closing. “That’s when it’s the most dangerous. It’s like black ice; you don’t see it until you’re whacking your knee on the far wall.” He heard her snort. “Well, not my best exit ever, but goodnight Ranger.” Her voice was soft as she said, “I’m glad you’re here tonight.” Then, in what sounded to Ranger like a whisper—like a caress—he heard, “Sleep well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight Steph,” he answered as he heard a door closing. Half to himself he added, “I’m glad I’m here too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After awhile he noticed that he was listening to the shower running in the bathroom, and realized that he’d been staring at the same screen on the laptop for several minutes. His body was telling him that he was being a stubborn asshole and that he really needed to sleep. Not the light sleep vigil he had in his truck, or even in jail, thank God. He needed to pass out for however long he could, refreshed to restart his hunt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it wouldn’t be on the platform bed back in his spartan, quiet loft in SoHo. It wouldn't be behind the veil of obscurity provided by his holding company ownership and the security ensured by his four locks and his state-of-the-art infrared alarm system. Instead, it would be in Steph's rambunctious multi-family house, behind a commercial “maybe the cops will come” alarm system. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It would be on a pillow that he’d already noted smelled vaguely of Stephanie and her home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He closed the laptop, picked up his papers, and started silently back toward the den. As he padded past the bathroom door, the sound of running water danced along his senses. He could smell Steph’s soap, mingled with her distinctive female scent. He could almost feel the drop-by-drop cascade of warm water on his arms, coursing down his chest, down past his ass, down his legs, like fingers against his skin. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could feel it running through his hair, dripping languorously onto his nose and lips. Like kisses. Like Steph's full, soft lips. Like the aching thrill running along his cock as it started to lunge insistently against his suddenly too-tight pants. He inhaled deeply, suppressing a groan, and kept moving down the hall. Tomorrow morning, after he’d slept, he would finish his plan for tracing his fugitives. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tonight though, he and his hands—bandaged and not—had far more urgent business to manage before he’d be able to sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. A New Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 9: A New Day</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie could hear the shower running as she returned downstairs on Sunday morning. She laughed under her breath. For the first time in the history of the universe and all the planets, she was awake and dressed before Ranger. Probably the ancient Mayans had written about this very moment. Maybe it was like that cosmic convergence thing; the start of a new era in humanity’s relationship to morning. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Or... probably not. But maybe she’d be able to tease Ranger about it someday. Either possibility was equally momentous in Stephanie’s way of thinking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Since she had about a half hour before it was time to leave for church, there was still time for a quick clean-up. So, picking up a stack of breakfast dishes from the dining room table, she jostled open the door into the kitchen with her hip and elbow. Knowing that Ranger was awake, she didn't have to worry about making noise anymore.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Setting down the pile of plates, she went back to the dining room for the orange juice and milk. She could tell from the muted splashing that Ranger was in the shower. The thought made her happy to her very bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Partly it was the renewed jolt of astonishment that Ranger was really here. He was actually in her house. That was enough for a lifetime, right there. Beyond that, she had another, unexpected chance to help Ranger after all he’d done for her in the past. It was like having birthday cake for breakfast, whether it was bailing him out of jail, being able to offer him the comforts of a shower, or simply seeing him smile. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, though she was slightly embarrassed to admit it, she was relieved to hear Ranger stirring because this meant she wouldn’t have to try writing him another note before she headed out to church.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She'd already left a few post-it notes scattered around to orient Ranger to the idiosyncrasies of the house. Things like “the kitchen clock is ten minutes fast” and “don't run the coffee maker and toaster at the same time but if you do, the fuse box is behind the sailboat picture in the hallway.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then she'd gotten stumped when trying to write a note to just make himself at home and eat whatever he found in the kitchen. It should have been so easy, but she’d written at least four of them and crumpled each one into the wastebasket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She knew that it was best to be straightforward with Ranger. So she’d tried, “Ranger, make yourself at home.” She’d put the note under a coffee cup and looked at it. Then she’d pulled it back out and added, “And eat breakfast.” It still wasn’t quite right, so she’d appended, “please.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scanning the note as she tucked it back under the coffee cup, Stephanie realized it sounded too much like a note from mom. That certainly didn't feel right when thinking of Ranger. So she’d torn it up and tried again. “Ranger, good morning, it’s okay to eat breakfast.” She’d snorted as soon as she read the note; she could almost hear a wry “Babe, good to know.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She’d realized she was trying to write like Ranger, so she’d tried just jotting as if she were speaking. Two pieces of paper later, she’d stopped and tried to read her latest note. She’d crumpled that one when she realized that the cross-outs and sentences running up the margins made it impossible for even her to figure it out. And, the parts she </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>read were more like a diary entry than an invitation for Ranger to truly feel at home in her house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally she’d written a simple note that she’d liked. Humming with contentment she’d tucked its edge under the coffee cup and then turned to put the pen away. As she’d scanned the note again in her periphery she’d stopped. Self-consciously, she realized she’d signed it “Love, Steph.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It reminded her uncomfortably of the revelation she’d had almost a year after leaving Trenton. That she couldn’t remember ever having told Ranger she loved him. Not out loud. It had been one of several painful and unflattering self-discoveries she’d made in the past several years. And, having failed to discuss feelings with Ranger, she didn’t know how he would read that phrase. Perhaps in his mind it would be like “roger that” or “ten-four good buddy.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, maybe it would spook him. Maybe it would trigger regrets for him, as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, regrets were reminders of a past that couldn’t be changed. Moving forward required the right attitude, and it was more than a note about breakfast could accomplish. Resolute, she’d taken a deep breath and tossed out that note also.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, she'd headed upstairs for an hour of getting ready for the day with her girls, returning herself to familiar family time. Weekend clothes-a-palooza, to borrow Mary Alice's phrase. When the relative discipline of schoolday preparations went out the window. When over an hour could fly by before Stephanie even knew it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>These days, thank heavens, she rarely had to debate the artificial nature of clothing conventions with Mary Alice. And, with Angie away at college, Stephanie didn’t have anyone to distract </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> with discussions of shoes and accessorizing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>However, she knew from experience that leaving Sarah unattended on Sunday morning meant that she’d still be in her pajamas over an hour later. She’d either spend the time in earnest chats with her pet turtle or on the floor ringed by her stuffed toys. Between the Powerpuff Girls, the Merida and Mulan dolls, and the plush Angry Bird thingies she’d adopted from Mary Alice, Stephanie suspected that Sarah was developing her own interdimensional persona in her bedroom.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Older and more serious, Lisa would have gotten dressed on her own. However, since Lisa still didn’t quite understand the nuances of either church or dressing up, she could be wearing anything. It might actually be a dress. On the other hand, it might be her Girl Scout uniform. It might be the puffy-sleeved, bright green “dirndl” outfit her Grandma Kloughn had brought back from their vacation in the Swiss Alps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This morning, though, things had gone fairly smoothly, with only limited procrastination and little squabbling. Following her usual Sunday habit, she’d brought up her own clothes and gotten dressed for church along with the girls. Then, while helping with outfits, hair brushing, and (in Sarah’s case) selection of videos to watch later with her friend Jaleesa, she’d told them somewhat edited stories about Ranger and how they’d become friends. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Alice had known a lot about him, of course. However, it had surprised Stephanie that Mary Alice knew stories that Stephanie didn’t think she’d told her. Then she’d realized that Albert must have talked about Ranger. From the stories that Mary Alice relayed, it must have been a major man-crush. In a shy voice, Mary Alice had confessed that the few times she’d seen Ranger as a child had been like meeting Jack Sparrow in person. Stephanie had laughed, but thought that might not be too far off the mark.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Returning to the present, standing in front of the dirty dishes in her kitchen, Stephanie chuckled again at the image. She had a very muscular, sober, and badass Jack Sparrow showering in her bathroom. And, from the scent, Jack Sparrow had apparently found the sandalwood soap she’d left on the counter yesterday after her Saturday grocery run. It wasn’t Bvlgari, but Jack Sparrow was going to smell better than any pirate had a right to. In fact, he was going to look better, too. A lot better.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Opening the dishwasher, she reflected that most of the men her age were starting to look soft. A bit more weight spread across their bodies, their chins and cheeks with less definition, and their middles a bit more padded. It was true even for the cops, like Joe or her boss Ryan, whose exercise regimens kept them fit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ranger still looked as trim as always. Though more lean, he was still muscled like a lumberjack and fit into his cargoes the same as the man she’d originally met in his late-twenties. With his hair slightly shaggy and the minor crowsfeet around his guarded, intelligent eyes, he looked as alluringly dangerous as ever. And yes, she’d definitely checked him out yesterday. And was getting a bit flushed thinking about him now. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ruefully, she realized that contemplating Ranger in the shower was not conducive to church-going thoughts. So she reached over to her faux Coach bag, which she’d set on the kitchen table in preparation for the morning. Fumbling, she pulled out her little clip-on iPod, popped in her earbuds, and started listening to the music Mary Alice had loaded on it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now that she wasn’t worried about waking Ranger, she set about unloading last night’s dishes from the dishwasher, making room for this morning’s plates and glasses. Plates and silverware first, then glasses and mugs. As the music mix shifted to early Madonna, she took a moment to start dancing in-place in front of the sink, not bothering to put down the collection of forks and spoons she was holding as she waved her arms in the air. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At just that moment, she spied Ranger leaning back against the counter to her left, an amused glimmer in his eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Holy cow, Ranger!” She almost flung the silverware in a shiny clatter as she spun toward him. “Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Her breath had sped up and she could feel her face heating up. His stance, with his arms crossed over his black thermal shirt, showed off his upper arms and chiseled chest in a way she remembered well. His hair glistened with moisture from the shower.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph,” he smirked, “a brass band could have snuck up on you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, yeah, not aware of my surroundings, yadda yadda,” she said, feeling flustered. However, seeing Ranger out of the corner of her eyes, she suddenly realized she'd seen Angie standing almost exactly the same way as Ranger in the same part of the kitchen. It was a defensive posture; a self protective stance. Though in Ranger’s case, it was well hidden behind his prominent biceps and shoulders. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking up quickly, she thought she caught a flash of wariness lurking behind the amusement in his guarded face. She wondered if that had always been true, and she just hadn’t seen it before. Something to think about. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She pulled the earbuds out of her ears and pointed to the matchbook-sized iPod on her collar. “Check this out. The girls pitched in to get me this for my birthday last year, though I think it was mostly self-protection so they wouldn’t have to listen to my music anymore.” Watching his face relax into amusement, she continued. “I mean, Ranger, can you believe that this tiny thing has more music than that whole pile of CDs I used to have in the corner of my apartment?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe. Was that the stack before or after Sally Sweet’s friend torched your place?” He uncoiled and took a couple of slow steps toward her, a gentle twitch curling his lip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ugh, very funny,” she rolled her eyes. However, seeing his smug look she couldn’t help chuckling. In hindsight, it actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>funny that her former life as a bounty hunter could be outlined relative to building explosions, kidnappings, and epic car disasters. That Ranger knew those milestones was oddly comforting. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, it’s way better than either CD collection, before or after. Right now, it’s got the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame mix that Mary Alice made for me. It has everything: Metallica, Pat Benatar, Heart, Van Halen, Madonna, and the Boss! She's even tried to expand my tastes by adding a few I didn’t know, like Buddy Guy and Albert King. It’s really good.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds more like she wanted to distract you,” he said in a knowing voice as he walked to her other side. He reached down and pulled the silverware drainer from the dishwasher, and then started sorting the remaining utensils in-place while Stephanie stared. It was disconcertingly similar to the dream she’d had a few months ago where George Clooney stopped by and started folding laundry. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, you don’t have to do that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not a problem.” She heard him chuckling gently under his breath at her stunned look. “Steph, I know about dishes and kitchens. I mostly live inside and use utensils. I even have indoor plumbing and a dishwasher in my apartment.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, jeez Ranger. Sorry, I didn’t mean to be insulting or anything,” she said, turning with embarrassment to open the silverware drawer. She deposited her original handful of silverware one-by-one into the sections, and then took the pre-sorted bundles from Ranger. She noted that he now had a clean, square bandage on his left hand and that the swelling on his right hand had reduced to just a set of bruises. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, really, I’m glad to help,” he said as they continued putting away dishes as though they’d been doing this for years. “It was nice to get a full night’s sleep for a change.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She glanced at his face. He still looked a bit scuffed up, but better rested than yesterday. “I’m glad, Ranger.” She caught his eyes when he handed her the last of the mugs from the dishwasher’s top drawer. “I confess, though, I was worried that the bodysnatchers had grabbed you when you weren’t already out here when I got up.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lip quirked. “Guess I was more tired than I thought.” She saw him glancing around the kitchen, taking in the remains of breakfast. “On the other hand, Steph, you’ve gotten good at stealth. I’m surprised I didn’t hear you this morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s because we shifted to Grandpa Plum Breakfast Protocol.” She saw his eyebrow rise. “When my dad was first living with us, he kinda didn’t sleep on a normal schedule. He’d watch TV in the den into the wee hours, and then stay in bed all morning. We discovered that we could eat in the dining room. With all three doors closed between the dining room and the den where he was sleeping—where you’re sleeping—he’d rarely wake up. Mary Alice remembered and set up the dining room this morning before I even suggested it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll thank her later,” he nodded and then reached over for the stack of dirty plates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wait, Ranger, let me do that.” She moved to stand in front of the sink before he had a chance to get his bandage wet. “Go ahead and fix yourself something to eat. I just put the orange juice back in the fridge, but help yourself. There’s bagels and cream cheese, eggs, yogurt, and a container of cut-up fruit. Also, I have a case of assorted Dunkin’ Donuts K-cups in the cabinet under the coffeemaker. Make whichever kind you like.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He remained staring at her, unmoving, so she pushed him gently toward the refrigerator and added, “And, hey, as a bonus prize you already know where all the dishes live. How cool is that?” She started rinsing plates and loading the bottom dishwasher drawer.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph,” she heard from behind the open refrigerator door, “your fridge is full of food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup, uh, that’s where I keep it. Food, that is.” She looked over at him. “The cold stuff, anyway.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard what sounded almost like a snort from behind the open door. “Babe, if it weren’t for the fact that you said your iPod has Metallica and Springsteen on it, I’d suspect that those bodysnatchers you mentioned actually had nabbed </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very funny, Ranger,” she rolled her eyes. “But seriously, help yourself to whatever’s in there.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Just orange juice for now, thanks.” He poured a large glass and then closed the fridge door. He was silent for a moment, looking at all the pictures that festooned the door. Stephanie saw his finger drift up to touch the edge of one of the pictures. “That’s Lula, standing outside your house,” he said in a muted tone. “She looks good.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that was last spring. We try to see each other in-person at least once a year. We trade off years: next March I’m going down to Baltimore for a week to visit with her. I can take Amtrak and she picks me up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Baltimore… did she go there to follow Tank?” he asked, sounding casual while he kept his eyes focused on the pictures stuck to the fridge door, his finger continuing to trace lightly around the edges.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not at all,” Stephanie answered, surprised he didn’t know this. Well, maybe he was testing to see what </span>
  <em>
    <span>she </span>
  </em>
  <span>knew. “Lula was there for a year before Tank and the other guys relocated to Baltimore. After she finally got her Associates degree in Community Health, one of her teachers connected her with the ‘Clinic on Wheels’ outreach program down there. It really gave her purpose, for a change. It’s like her dream job.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie closed the dishwasher and pulled the plaid hand towel off the hook next to the sink, when a memory made her start laughing. “Ranger, you would have loved it. I still remember her slamming into Vinnie’s office in some kind-of Nicki Minaj dress and safety-orange leggings, yelling that she was quitting immediately.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She started giggling. “This was a few weeks after we’d found out that the only reason Vinnie kept paying Lula for the filing she never did was because he had a ‘thing’ for office ‘pictorials’ featuring large ladies,” she finger-quoted as she spoke, “even if Lula always managed to evade him.” Stephanie grimaced. “Of course, that is when he wasn’t hanging out with poultry.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted, “So anyway, Lula spent about fifteen minutes busting him about the ‘freaky-assed perv’ porn he was watching on his computer while she described it in detail. I was going for the brain bleach, but Connie laughed so hard she spewed her coffee all over her desk and shorted out her keyboard.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sorry I missed it,” he answered with a wry expression on his face. “Are you still in touch with Connie?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not as much,” she answered turning to lean against the counter, “I sometimes see her when we visit Trenton over Christmas, but we’ve kinda gone our different ways. After Harry the Hammer made Vinnie close down for good, she went to manage the office for her cousin at the junkyard. I think that’s her social life, now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He nodded, and she continued. “I do still keep in touch with my friend Mary Lou; you met her a couple of times. That picture below Lula’s is from August. Mary Lou and her family drove up to meet us in Cape Cod, at the camp we stayed at for our summer vacation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at the memory. “I’m used to seeing Angie and Mary Alice all grown up, but it still surprises me that her sons are like six-feet tall and in college. It feels like just yesterday that she had to take Mikey to the emergency room because he ate a bunch of Legos, including some little pointy Lego people. Now he’s ROTC and studying economics. They grow up so fast.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a slow rumbling laugh, Ranger put his empty glass on the counter. She saw a brief shadow trace across his expression before he turned back to her, his face once again composed. “Speaking of eating inappropriate things,” Ranger pointed at the top-most picture on the door. “I’m assuming this is a Halloween picture. I get that Mary Alice is dressed in some Japanese Anime cartoon outfit, but why are the three younger girls dressed as yellow suppositories with eyes?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help herself; she doubled over with laughter. “Omigod Ranger, we have to snare you for movie night while you’re here.” She looked up at his serious expression, which she had once labeled as “Perplexed Ranger Falls Through Stephanie’s Rabbit Hole Yet Again.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking pity on him, she tried to control herself. “They’re cartoon characters called Minions from the ‘Despicable Me’ movies. Sarah and Lisa love them and got Jaleesa to dress up with them since she was here for the weekend. If we have time we’ll watch one together. They’re actually pretty funny.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked at her, suspicious. “It’s not Disney, right? I don’t do singing rabbits and frogs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger, I wouldn’t dream of it,” she answered, still fighting her laughter. “Also, I promise that there are no talking fish, frilly princesses, or Prince Charmings. Instead, there are bad guys, weapons, and at least one car chase. You’ll love it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips quirked in a smile and he looked back at the fridge. “So, I’m sensing a slight misdirection here. Who’s dressed as the princess in the picture next to the Minions?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, that’s Angelique, Joe’s daughter. He sent me that picture from his phone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s right,” Ranger said, his eyes focused on the fridge. “You’ve also kept close with Joe,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, Ranger, Joe’s been a good friend. His wife Amanda, too. I think I told you he helped me get my current job.” Ranger nodded, so she continued, “That was actually the second job he got me. When I was still trying to make it in Trenton, he lobbied hard and got me a part-time job as a dispatcher at the TPD, even though his bosses really didn’t want the Bombshell Bounty Hunter working for them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shrugged, then continued, “It was a crappy job and didn’t solve all my problems. But at least it got me enough money to pay the back rent on Val’s house so I could sublet it and get us moved in with my dad.” Lowering her voice, she mumbled, “Which also wasn’t great, but that’s another story.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had turned to look at her, his face still blank but his eyes dark. “Why not move in with Joe? I thought he was the one who wanted a family, all along.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Surprised, Stephanie stared at Ranger. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh hello Anger</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>where have you been?</span>
  </em>
  <span> She scanned Ranger’s face to see if he was yanking her chain. But no… so this was probably a remnant of unfinished business between them. She started reciting the first three sentences of the Declaration of Independence in her mind; a self-distraction technique Mrs. Kloughn had taught her when it had become obvious that counting to ten just gave her more seconds to focus all her attention on getting even angrier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At about the point that she got to "We hold these truths to be self-evident" in her head, she remembered that she’d gone through similar “from outer space” conversations with Joe years ago. She suspected that, in Ranger’s mind, his question made total sense. Despite the complete dumbness factor. So, as she’d learned painstakingly to do with both Joe and her eldest Angie, she consciously decided to just answer the surface questions until the underlying emotions had calmed. Her emotions especially. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finishing up after "Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness," she focused back at Ranger, crossing her arms. Keeping her voice matter-of-fact, she answered quietly, “Joe and I weren’t together anymore, Ranger." She took a breath, watching his blank expression. "In fact, I’d introduced him to Amanda a few months before, and she had just moved in with him. That’s Amanda in the picture with Joe, down by the door handle.” Ranger’s brow wrinkled, a hint of puzzlement showing from behind his closed expression. His eyes riveted to hers, and she could almost hear the question in his mind.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Joe and I broke up about a month before you left Trenton, though we didn’t tell anyone.” She pulled her hand up to swipe away a lock of hair that had fallen in front of her eyes. “It was already really difficult, and we didn’t want to deal with everyone trying to push us back together one more time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused at the unbidden memory of Ranger, himself, pushing her back to Joe. In fairness, though, Ranger wasn’t the only one. She and Joe had been one of the reigning soap operas in the ’Burg for years; it was like the script had already been written and they just had to blunder through all the episodes until they got to the “Very Special Series Finale” with Joe and Stephanie walking down the aisle. Which, thank heavens, had never happened.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger tilted his head slightly. “You broke up all the time, but you always got back together within a few weeks,” he said softly, almost under his breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not that time.” She sighed at the memories, and then shrugged. “Joe and I finally got in sync. We figured out that two people who break up repeatedly over things like peanut butter and bread really don’t belong together for the long haul.” She started nibbling her lower lip, remembering the moment when she'd seen that she’d gotten it wrong, all along. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The moment was so clear in her memory. She’d been sitting in the dark of her apartment after yet another close call with death. She’d been annoyed when Joe had finally caught up with her in the hospital. Not happy; not safe. Annoyed. They'd had an almost pro-forma shouting match about her safety. And then he'd left, telling her to get pizza for dinner because he was pulling yet another long shift.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And darn-it—whether Joe was right or wrong—it was clear that, whatever they had together, it wasn't love anymore. In that moment she’d realized that what she had with Joe was familiarity; on their best days it was accommodation. She'd thought back to what she'd imagined as a teen: that love should be a primal force that made you strong enough to dare the world for each other. To be together through it all. She remembered wondering when she’d started being </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad </span>
  </em>
  <span>when Joe didn’t rush to her disasters and came home too late to talk. Or when peanut butter had become more important than the feelings of the man whose bed she shared.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lost in her memories, now over seven years in the past, she didn’t see the confusion on Ranger’s face. Then the phone rang, snapping her mood. As she turned to answer it, Ranger re-opened the refrigerator, the door once again blocking her view. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, Plum residence,” she answered, too disoriented to look at the incoming number before picking up the phone. “Oh, hey Jaleesa,” she continued, as she heard Mary Alice coming down the stairs, singing “I’ve got you... under my skin…” in her lounge singer voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking her head, Stephanie wrapped up the call, “Okay, we’ll meet you downstairs by the car in about five minutes.” She hung up as Mary Alice darted into the kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi Mom, good morning Ranger,” she reached around Ranger to grab a juice box from the fridge. “Are you coming with us to church? That would be really cool,” she enthused while poking a straw into the carton. “Uncle Darius’ church is one of my favorites; their hymns are different from the ones over at Our Lady of Annunciation. Uncle Darius taught me a couple so I could join in.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger closed the fridge door, his hands empty. “No, I have a lot of work to do this morning,” he answered in a matter-of-fact tone, his face composed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh rats, that’s too bad,” Mary Alice answered, genuine disappointment clear in her voice. “I wish you didn’t have to, but I know mom said you have a big case to solve, so that’s important too. Maybe you can come next time you visit.” She crumpled and tossed out the juice container, then turned to Stephanie. “Was that Uncle Darius on the phone? The Ewoks will be down in a few minutes, so we can suit-up for the ice planet outside. I’ll go get our coats sorted out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks honey, but remember that your sisters aren’t primitive furry aliens.” Stephanie answered as Mary Alice smiled mischievously, and then twirled toward the kitchen door. “I’ve got you... deep in the heart of me…” she resumed her song, singing softly this time as she drifted toward the stairs. “So deep in my heart… that you’re a part of me….” Her voice muffled as she went up to find her sisters.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Steph, Star Wars I get, but Cole Porter?” Ranger asked, “Not some boy band? How old is she, anyway?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the puzzlement on his face, Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh again. Trust Mary Alice to lighten her mood. “It’s worse than that Ranger,” Stephanie smiled in answer. “It’s Sinatra’s Greatest Hits. I blame my father and his Time/Life Classic Voices of the 20th Century collection.” As she heard the clatter of Lisa and Sarah hurtling themselves downstairs toward the front door after Mary Alice, she added, “Don’t ask.” She rolled her eyes and saw Ranger smirk. She’d forgotten that he’d always found that amusing.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie picked up her purse from the counter. “Ranger, are you sure you don’t want to come with us? Darius did invite you last night.”</span>
</p><p><span>“I’m sure,” he answered, gesturing with his chin toward the sound of youthful chatter by the front door. “But, are </span><em><span>all</span></em><span> of you</span> <span>going? I thought Albert was Jewish.”</span></p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, the Kloughns are Jewish, but they went Unitarian for years so they don’t mind me exposing the girls to other things.” She paused briefly, “Though the Hindu temple was a bit beyond Lisa’s comfort zone, so I’ll go back there by myself next time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At his curious expression she added, “Since I’m a community liaison for the BPD, I decided to attend different churches so people can know me and that I respect their traditions. I go to schools and street fairs, too. But, anyway, the Kloughns are happy because they get all the girls for Sabbath and sleepover every-other weekend. And I go with them to temple on their high holidays. The way I see it, the point is to take time to think about God and you can do that anywhere.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agree with you there, Steph,” Ranger nodded as he reached for his empty glass.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he turned around to the sink and turned on the faucet, Stephanie stepped forward and put her hands lightly on his shoulders. “Ranger, please make yourself at home.” She released him and took a step backward as he turned to gaze at her, his eyes dark and mysterious pools. This was the expression she could never read. </span>
</p><p><span>“Seriously Ranger—how do you say it?—’my </span><em><span>casa</span></em><span> is </span><em><span>tu casa</span></em><span>’</span> <span>and, as you’ve noticed, there’s Ranger-friendly food in the fridge, mixed in with the Lunchables. Stay here for breakfast; stay as long as you need.” </span></p><p>
  <span>A smile illuminated his face, banishing the shadows from his eyes. “Thanks, Steph. Best offer I’ve had in a long time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard Mary Alice call that it was time to leave. She started toward the apartment’s main door and, rounding the bend from the dining room, saw all three girls like down-bundled owls staring with anticipation from the entryway. She smiled back at Ranger in the kitchen, and then headed over to where her coat was hanging. Shrugging it on, she pulled her purse onto her shoulder and turned to say goodbye. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Startled, she saw that Ranger had followed her, silent as always. Only a few feet away, he stood illuminated in the light from the front window; a handsome image silhouetted from her past. Then he smiled again and she saw her friend, here in-person. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye Steph,” he said in a low timbre. “I’ll let you know my plans.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bye Ranger, we’ll see you later,” she answered, wishing that she was staying here with him today. But, she could tell that he needed to be alone for awhile. And he truly needed to work on his case.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Mary Alice opened the door behind her, a chorus of “Bye Ranger” and “See you, Ranger” sang out as the girls headed through the door to the landing. Then, as Stephanie turned to follow, Mary Alice added, “Bye John Boy.” Hearing Ranger’s chuckle, Stephanie started laughing as she tapped Mary Alice on the shoulder. “You watch way too much TV, young lady,” she said as she closed the door, smiling one last time at Ranger as she closed the door to head downstairs and out to the driveway. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Back to Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 10: Back to Work</b>
</p><p>Ranger walked into the D'Angelo’s sub shop on Sunday evening. The sun was getting low on the horizon, making it difficult to see even with the dark Ray-Bans he'd picked up at the store yesterday with Steph. It was good timing, he thought as he looked at the menu on the wall. He needed to warm up and get some calories. He needed to pop a couple more painkillers to deal with his headache and the lingering pain he felt in his joints and muscles. </p><p>Beyond that, it was time to evaluate what he’d learned during his day of pounding the street so he could put this evening’s surveillance to best use.</p><p>He stomped his feet unconsciously while he waited in line, and tucked his hands under his arms to warm them. Just his luck that he’d dropped into Boston during a record-breaking, post-Halloween cold snap. It was on a par with this whole job. He was starting to seriously wonder what had caused him to take it. The whole thing was FUBAR.</p><p>No, that wasn't entirely true, he thought to himself as he stepped up to order. Against all odds, this job had brought Steph back into his life. The same Steph, yet so different. </p><p>He couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if he’d been in Trenton the year when Steph’s sister died. He would have stepped forward to help, no doubt about that. In fact, even now he felt himself coil for action every time he thought about what Steph had gone through while he was away, not that he could do anything now.</p><p>And, dammit, he’d heard her loud-and-clear that she had needed to reach for a different type of help than what he would’ve provided. Help she might not have sought had he been there. What was fucked up was that Ranger had decided she probably was right. What the hell did he know about raising children, about creating a family? Not exactly things he’d excelled at, he thought darkly.</p><p>Then he mentally shrugged. If he was honest, he hadn’t been in any shape to help her with anything beyond money anyway. Not something he liked to admit, but there it was. He’d been at a tipping point; his vaunted discipline frayed. He’d barely been able to stomach his days being mired in meetings and paperwork. The walls in his apartment, the guardrails on his schedule, the chain of command…. They’d all closed in around him. </p><p>Without realizing it, he’d managed to re-create most of what had made the Army untenable. And he’d had a mental rucksack full of personal crap he’d needed the past six-or-so years to deal with. He sighed inwardly; he’d truly needed to leave Trenton when he did. </p><p>But what was truly fucked up was that <em> he </em> had probably needed <em> her </em>more than she had needed him. Just thinking about it made his anger concuss like a building imploding into rubble and a plume of dust. </p><p>In the early hours this morning, he’d woken from a restless dream with a realization that passed through him like an electric shock. What if the reason he’d been able to stay focused long enough to build Rangeman into a lucrative, well-respected business was precisely that Steph had been there to ground him, to counter-balance him? The sheer unpredictability and adrenaline rush of her emergencies had shown like halogen runway lights on the darkened airfield of his life. </p><p>Oh, he’d long ago figured out that watching her sleep had been his balm after he returned from difficult jobs, hair triggered and ready to blow. He’d come to rely on her unconditional acceptance of his damaged soul to regain his balance and resume his regimented life with poise. He’d sneak in after midnight, sit for hours, and leave near dawn feeling like maybe he’d be able to sleep without nightmares. </p><p>Equally powerful, though, was his almost instinctive urge to spring into action when she was in danger. He would leave any meeting, abandon any project, dive headfirst into a murky river more than a storey below if he heard she was in danger. Then he’d walk away from her and return to his daily business, pumped and ready to roll. In a heated argument after the river-diving event, Tank had called her a pinup for Ranger's wet dreams and Ritalin for his attention deficit disorder. In retrospect Ranger thought Tank might have hit the nail on the head.</p><p>So, Steph had thought Ranger was Batman; Tank had thought he'd lost focus and passed all decision making to the head in his pants. Meanwhile his cousin Les had accused Ranger of misplacing his dick altogether since he kept letting the only woman obviously in his life return to goddamn Morelli over and over. </p><p>Which just made him think of Morelli. When Steph told him this morning that she had actually broken up with Morelli a month before he'd left town seven years ago, it had confused the crap out of him. It was like the first time he’d found himself on the side of the road after an ambush in the Army; ears ringing, bottom dropped out of his lungs, with no memory of how the hell he’d gotten there. </p><p>He'd felt so goddamn righteous that he'd walked away in nobility to leave Steph to the cop, and instead he'd monumentally missed his chance with her. The devil on his shoulder, though, whispered that he had ignored plenty of other chances to make her his. Maybe Morelli had been an excuse. Like saying that his life didn't lend itself to relationships, as though lifestyle wasn't just a series of choices. </p><p>Well, screw it. He should have been able to figure that out from how furious he’d been when he’d returned after that year away, only to find Steph gone and Morelli married. He should have looked a little more carefully at his rage. He’d been careless, though, since his deep core of anger had long been one of his strengths. Glacially calm on the outside, he’d always been able to immediately access that burning spark of fury that gave him the edge that made him exceptional. </p><p>But, when had it started to make him blind?</p><p>He remembered coming back to Trenton so clearly. He’d stormed back to Rangeman at 2am—still dressed for undercover—after finding a Vietnamese couple living in Stephanie’s former apartment and the Plum house empty with dust on the furniture. Tank hadn’t answered his calls and hadn’t been home. Les had answered his cellphone from what sounded like a strip club and said Stephanie had moved away months ago. Bobby, obviously half asleep, had basically told Ranger that it wasn’t his business to track other peoples’ ex-girlfriends. </p><p>So Ranger had turned over his own office and apartment, searching for clues. All he’d found was Steph’s key fob with Tank’s note saying that Steph had returned it when she’d left town. In the process he’d unearthed the bottle of Johnnie Walker Blue Label that his brother had given him when he’d bought the building and proceeded to drink himself into a shotglass-throwing stupor.</p><p>He’d been furious that he’d allowed himself that weakness. And that he’d allowed himself to rely on another person to make himself whole. Before he’d managed to ramp himself down, he’d destroyed several punching bags and needed stitches and a splint for his hand. The first bar fight down at the docks hadn’t been his finest moment, but it had helped him get a grip on himself. At least he hadn’t gotten arrested that time.</p><p>But, as the weeks went on, he’d had even less tolerance for the day-to-day business at Rangeman than before. He’d lost his ability to sleep through the night and found himself volunteering for the violent skips a bit more often than was smart. He'd found himself picking fights. Something had to give.</p><p>Tank had been fairly clear on the point, as well, during a couple of bouts on the mats that had become more than the usual sparring sessions. At the end of it all, Ranger still believed that selling his share of the business and moving on had been the right thing to do. For everyone concerned. </p><p>Having connected back up with Stephanie, Ranger couldn’t help but wonder how those six months would have played out differently had she still been in Trenton when he'd returned. Well, he thought sardonically, there would've been fewer bar fights. And what about the years afterward? Would she have agreed to leave Trenton with him? Taking a breath, he wondered: would he have agreed to follow her in support of her new family?</p><p>Amazingly, he now saw that she still radiated a vibrancy that drew him. Perhaps her emergencies and the volatility of life around her hadn’t been why he had been drawn to Stephanie in the first place. Perhaps he <em> would </em>have followed her while he searched for his new equilibrium.</p><p>Ranger was suddenly pulled back into the moment by the teenager behind the D’Angelo’s counter. <em> Dammit </em>, Ranger thought to himself, he was still ignoring his surroundings. He couldn't blame his distraction on Steph though; she hadn't even been in the picture when he'd been dropped like an amateur in the Allston bodega a couple of days ago. Nope, it was all on him.</p><p>Ranger paid and then took his food—two turkey subs with cheese, a large salad, water and hot tea—and found a table. He sat with his back to the wall, his gun hidden comfortably within reach and his piece-of-shit car visible through the front window. It was time to focus on the here-and-now. The sheer discomfort of the too-narrow chair and table should help minimize distraction. He'd have plenty of time later, in his car, to ruminate over Steph.</p><p>Focusing on that physical discomfort for a moment, he shook out a couple ibuprofen tablets and swallowed them with a sip of water. Then he unwrapped his first sandwich and put aside half of the bread while considering the information he’d learned today on the streets. Some informants in Fall River had tipped him to the neighborhood in Mattapan that he’d visited this afternoon. And, he’d hit paydirt in two older women handing out Jehovah’s Witness pamphlets who'd recognized the picture of Figueroa he’d downloaded this morning over the internet from his encrypted server. </p><p>The two women had pointed out the building where they’d seen Figueroa. They’d also mentioned that he seemed to be a night owl and that they often saw him with one or two men. They had helpfully described the men while Ranger made a show of taking some pamphlets, promising he’d read them later. </p><p>With that intel, coupled with other hints he’d gleaned throughout the day, Ranger knew where he’d be after it got dark. An evening stakeout after an afternoon of pounding the pavement. Back to the basics; there was something comforting in that.</p><p>If that didn’t work out, he’d also gotten a more speculative tip regarding a meeting at a pub in Dorchester tomorrow. He pulled out his phone to look at where that was on the map. As he took a sip of water, he realized that the two twenty-somethings who had sat down at the next table had started darting glances at him, whispering to each other and giggling. </p><p>Just great, he thought, with a mental grimace. He’d managed to go to sleep last night after a marathon of whacking off, and now he was providing fantasy material to two young let’s-be-friends out for an adventure. Too bad he wasn’t still twenty himself. Back then, all he would’ve needed was a knowing glance and a few inconsequential yet provocative comments, and he’d have been looking at an early-evening threesome. An unexpectedly warm sendoff before a chilly night of surveillance. </p><p>Since his teens, he knew he was considered handsome and that he was desirable to women. And a lot of men, too, truth be told. He'd found out, early on, that he could have almost any woman he wanted, in whatever way he wanted. Which had been pretty goddamn perfect from his point of view well into his early thirties. Even the difficulty with Rachel hadn't quenched the hardness and creativity of his dick. It had just made him resolve to always use his own condoms.</p><p>However, these days, the chase and conquest had lost its luster. Oh, he sometimes still found time to indulge. And, whether he liked it or not, part of him was even now evaluating the young ladies seated next to him. The young ladies whose eating and drinking had slowed to a sensuous mime. </p><p>But he already knew he wouldn’t pursue. He rarely did anymore. He wasn’t in need of the high. It wasn’t worth the day-after feeling that the experience had occurred to someone else. Or, that he’d given away something of himself with little to show for it. </p><p>If he was honest, it was a fairly depressing prospect. He’d probably gotten more long-term physical satisfaction from this morning’s hour of stretches, push-ups, and crunches at Steph’s house before he’d showered and gone out to talk with her. And, with Steph, he actually had someone whose conversation interested him. Someone whose remembered caresses still heated his dreams after all these years.</p><p>Finished with his food, he stood up from his table and picked up his tray. Time to break some hearts. So, exiting from the side opposite from his admirers, Ranger walked to the door, deposited his trash, and took his quickly cooling tea outside to his car. </p><p>Taking a sip, he shuddered slightly at the bitter, hard finish that did nothing to mitigate the paper-cup taste. As he slid behind the wheel, he resolved to get an insulated mug and some Gunpowder Green or Lung Ching tea that he could brew at Stephanie’s. He’d get enough so she could brew it, too, if she came to like it.</p><p>He started the car, grimacing unconsciously at its scraping ignition, and drove a number of blocks while executing a simple evasion sequence. He was used to tailing and evading at dusk, and this crappy car had the singular benefit of semi-anonymity in traffic. Since he hadn’t spotted any fleas on his way to the sub shop or upon leaving, he was quickly satisfied. He pulled into a strip-mall parking lot and took a space between two panel trucks.</p><p>He’d wait until dark to start his stakeout. Right now, he could use the time to review his list of targets. Relatively hidden from sight, he unfastened his seatbelt and unfolded some papers from the pocket on his right pants leg. He took out the small carabiner LED light that he’d found at the drug store. Turning it to illuminate the papers without making his face visible, he began to scan.  </p><p>He’d reconstituted his list this morning in Steph’s kitchen, using the laptop she’d made available. Adding her new information to his, it looked even more like a United Nations of suspiciously entwined people. The coincidental overlaps between targets and locations thrummed against his nerves.</p><p>And, frankly, talking with Morelli on Saturday night had ratcheted his concern about his current case to a new level. When an experienced Chief of Detectives in an urban area, with all his resources, saw the same anomalies as a gun-for-hire working the shady margins, there was truly cause for concern. Ranger grimaced to himself. Morelli might be a personal pain in his ass, but he had always been a smart cop. </p><p>So, time to focus. He needed to be strategic because he didn’t have the bandwidth to pursue them all in the time before his hearing at the Boston courthouse at the end of the month. He read through the list, sifting the information in his mind.</p><p>First, there was his own target, Mateus Figueroa, originally from Brazil. With a lapsed green card, he’d left his dockside job in Galveston with no notice. He’d nabbed his sons from Puerto Rico and dragged them along as he’d traveled all the way up to Portland Maine, then down to Fall River. Now there were a few positive sightings up in Boston. </p><p>Then there was Mirko Krc from the Turkish/Armenian border. He’d been low on Ranger’s list until Stephanie unearthed that he’d worked at the same Galveston dockyard as Figueroa in Texas. He’d moved right near the top of the list with Morelli’s tip that Krc had been stealing cars in New Jersey and might have nabbed a heavy-duty construction vehicle as he’d escaped their dragnet.</p><p>Additionally, informants had placed someone matching Krc’s description, with his lanky frame and memorable facial scar, in Figueroa’s company. Admittedly the first Boston informant was an obvious substance abuser, but the ladies handing out pamphlets today had been more specific. Krc might lead Ranger to Figueroa. And, Krc was wanted in New Jersey, so Ranger could legitimately collar him, if it came to that. </p><p>So, those were the targets on whom he’d concentrate. With that in mind, he put away his notes on the remaining men whose names had surfaced during his hunt. Amadeo Djaleo from Minneapolis and Fall River was still suspicious, but Ranger didn’t have any recent leads on him. The other two men—Burc Aburek and Brendan Fennelly—intersected his case but seemed more peripheral. And, again, Ranger didn’t have any sightings to pursue. </p><p>He glanced briefly at the separate page where he’d drawn the various connections between the men. The overlaps seemed too specific to be coincidences. Frankly, when mapped in time they were like chessmen moving across the board, converging on checkmate. But, without knowing the “king” they were trying to capture, the information didn’t help. </p><p>Ranger had pondered this earlier: Their movements had earmarks of sleeper agents being mobilized. However, they were too diverse to be the type of <em> jihadi </em>or organized crime network he was accustomed to tracing. He was going to have to keep relying on old-fashioned footwork.</p><p>Last night after Morelli’s call, Ranger had left another coded message for Tino Clark, his client at the FBI. It was worrisome that Clark had been out of contact for almost two weeks. Tomorrow morning he’d update his chronology to include events that had occurred during this investigation. Tino’s silence and the set-up that had snared Ranger made them both part of the pattern.  </p><p>Ranger exhaled as he turned off the LED light and folded up his notes, feeling the warmth of his breath dissipate into the cold air of the car. Unless he had a breakthrough during tonight’s stakeout, he was going to be spending another long morning at Steph’s kitchen table, sifting through information and working the phone. With Monday being a business day, he could call some of his other FBI and Federal Marshals contacts on the pretext of networking without raising suspicion. </p><p>Putting his car into reverse, he mused that Steph’s kitchen was an unexpectedly productive place to work despite the frustration of the case. Even this morning, when he’d completely been off his game, he’d felt oddly sheltered while working there. The sunlight from the window, the faint ticking of the wall clock, and the distant sound of children playing outside in the cold had faded into a comfortable backdrop as he’d become engrossed in his case. </p><p>A couple of hours had passed that way as he searched, sent emails, made a couple of calls, and pulled his notes back together. At the end of it, he’d stretched in his chair and felt oddly renewed and ready for the day. He’d looked to his right and barked out a laugh at seeing Steph’s brown bear cookie jar staring at him with its shiny, painted eyes. He’d stood, pulled on his heavy sweater, and walked over. </p><p>After years of breaking into her apartment to load her gun—which he could more reliably find in the cookie jar than on her person—he couldn't help but look inside. No gun, just granola bars like the ones Steph had brought to the jail for him, partially covered by a large post-it note. He'd laughed out-loud as he'd read, “Hello Ranger, grown-up Stephanie knows that guns go in gun safes and snacks go in cookie jars. Help yourself." She'd drawn an arrow and a rectangle he imagined was a granola bar. </p><p>Taking her at her word, he’d grabbed a couple for the road and then had headed out for the day. That was hours ago, but he chuckled again at the memory. That had made his day. That and the note he’d found on his folded-up new clothes last night, telling him that Steph had removed the tags so he should wear them because now it was too late to return them. Steph still was one of the few people who could make him laugh. </p><p>Ranger pulled out of the parking lot and headed back toward Mattapan for his night’s stakeout. He steered the car through a rundown industrial district, the old steel cobrahead streetlights casting the road and surrounding buildings in weak yellows and shades of gray. Turning right, he entered a tired-looking residential street. </p><p>He drove past a chain link fence strewn with old bouquets, pictures, and teddy bears; clearly the makeshift memorial to a car accident or a drive-by shooting. In his job, he often got to see the worst in people. He took solace in being able to take some of them off the streets, helping to tilt the balance toward justice. A few patches of color showed through curtains in the houses and apartments he passed. </p><p>As he drove, Ranger reflected that his current life was suited to him, even if sometimes lonely. Even if he admitted that the past couple of days showed him that he missed having Stephanie in it. </p><p>He wondered how easy it would be to stay connected this time. Sardonically, he thought maybe it would be as simple as calling her. It wasn’t goddamn rocket science. Though, since he was feeling like a moron at the moment for not having been in touch until now, maybe it <em> was </em>rocket science after all. Following his mood to its logical conclusion, if he ended up in the slammer for that shooting in Dorchester, he might even have visitors’ hours. How convenient.</p><p>Well, he reflected wryly, he wasn’t going to spend time in prison one way or the other. Reaching the building that had been pointed out to him earlier in the day, Ranger slowly circled the block with his headlights off. Finally he parked on the opposite corner, under a burned-out streetlight. He slouched down in his car and took a sip of bitter, cooling tea. </p><p>He scanned the building; he could see the fire exit, the building’s front driveway, and the front sidewalk entrance from where he sat. Over half the cars parked around the building were the same as this afternoon. If he couldn’t tell from the diminished foot traffic, graffiti signaled that this building was on the border of two gangs. </p><p>He sat motionless for an hour or more, watching a few older ladies dropped off by a battered church bus, a few teenagers coming and going, a young woman in fishnet stockings clutching a lightweight coat as she hurried into a car, and an obvious drug deal about a block away under the pair of sneakers dangling over a drooping phone wire.</p><p>Just another night in a rough neighborhood. Nothing notable thus far. Without consciously thinking about it, he pulled out his phone and removed one of his gloves to dial Stephanie. Surprised, he realized that his fingers had dialed her old cellphone number without conscious thought.</p><p>“Hello,” he heard her answer after a couple of rings. “Is this Ranger?” The sound of television faded from the background as he heard the snick of a door in the background.</p><p>“Yeah Steph,” he answered, his eyes still scanning the neighborhood though suddenly he didn’t feel so alone. </p><p>“You on stakeout? You have that ‘Chairman of the Bored’ voice.” </p><p>Ranger’s lips pulled up into a small smile; after all this time she still remembered that running joke. “Yeah, I took a break earlier, but will probably be out late tonight. Wanted you to know.”</p><p>“Do you need me to deliver some TastiKakes and a Sudoku book?” He heard a stifled giggle as she added, “Or maybe a heating pad and my Jets stadium blanket?” She chuckled again. “Though I don’t know where the blanket is; Angie used to hide it whenever her friends came over, since they’re all from here and are huge Patriots fans.” </p><p>Smiling to himself in the dark, he answered, “I’m okay without the blanket, and I’m sure I’ll regret turning down the heating pad in a few hours, but I’m fine.” After a pause he added, “Thanks, though.”</p><p>“No problem,” she laughed softly again in reply, the sound warming him as much as he imagined the heating pad would have. He could still hear the humor in her voice as she asked, “So, how did your day go?” </p><p>Ranger settled back, surprised at how normal this ritual felt after so many years. He’d missed calling her in the odd breaks of surveillance. “It was good, Steph. Got the lead I’m following tonight.” </p><p>“No breakthroughs yet?”</p><p>“No, but you know how it goes. You keep following leads and suddenly you get the break that opens the case. I did get a confirmed sighting of my target.”</p><p>“Ranger that’s great,” she said, her voice breathy. Ranger knew her enthusiasm came from understanding how important confirmed sightings were. After all, she was a former bounty hunter. But, that didn’t stop his own breath from hitching slightly in response to her tone. He shifted slightly in his seat as she continued in a soft voice, “Let me know if you find anything you need me to follow up for you.” </p><p>“Will do Steph,” he answered, realizing that his own voice had lowered. “I’ll probably get in tonight after everyone is asleep. Can I call this number when you’re at work?”</p><p>“Of course Ranger. You can call this number anytime.” She said quietly. There was no irony in her tone, but it reminded him that she’d told him in jail that she didn’t have his phone number or any contact information. </p><p>“Same here, Steph.” He made a quick vow to himself he would keep this stupid clunker of a phone for an eternity—or at least its random phone number—if it meant that Steph would call him from time to time. </p><p>Her voice cut into his thoughts, “Oh, by the way Ranger, Mrs. Arshad downstairs signed for a courier package today. It’s addressed to me, but I think it’s really for you so I’ve put it under your clothes in the den. Of course I am completely non-curious and so have no idea of what’s inside.”  </p><p>“Got it, Steph.” Ranger knew his Babe—since it was addressed to her, she’d opened the package within a minute of getting into her apartment. And now she was letting him know that she didn’t want to discuss the counterfeit IDs she’d found inside. Ranger’s face with other names listed below. Helpful for getting to his money, but not helpful for a BPD community liaison to know about. “Exactly as I’d expect,” he said gently. </p><p>“Also, Ranger, it’s fine to come home whenever you do, tonight. Just park behind my car with about two yards between us and I’ll be able to swing out in the morning.” Her voice was soft as she added, “And I keep this phone in my room so you can call late if you need.”</p><p>She was reminding him of how he used to call—or even stop by—in the middle of the night. How he sometimes just needed to talk in the gray hours before the dawn. He truly didn’t deserve her kindness, but he thanked her anyway, knowing that she’d hear his heart in his voice. She always did. </p><p>Shortly after that, he’d ended the call and resumed watch. He focused on the street, but his mind kept wandering back to Steph. He had so few people to just <em> talk </em> with these days. That was something he’d wanted to change for awhile. And talking with Steph was so much more than just talking to <em> someone </em>. It always had been, from their first meeting years ago. </p><p>It was a memory burned into his soul: he’d gone to that meeting as an unwilling favor owed to Connie and her connections. Grudgingly, he’d sat his ass in that no-name diner with his calculated <em> boyz-n-the-hood </em> persona, figuring he’d scare the whitebread chick out of her bad-side-of-the-tracks fantasy. Of course, Stephanie being herself had just walked over, sat down, and talked with him like she’d known him for years. It had confused him, made him feel vulnerable, because he’d broken all of his rules by wanting to help her. Henry Higgins to her Eliza. Ranger to her Bombshell Bounty Hunter.</p><p>Who were they to each other, now? She said he was family. He leaned back into his car seat, turning that over in his head while he watched the limited neighborhood action in the crisp, cold night. </p><p>Another couple of hours passed as he did isometric exercises in his car seat, keeping alert and warming his muscles. At one point, out of boredom he followed an obviously inebriated older man through the buzz-entry front door and stuck a piece of electrical tape across the old-fashioned latch so he’d be able to get in again. While inside, he’d cased the hallways and stairwells, finding nothing notable though he did feel marginally warmer when he returned to his car. </p><p>A couple more hours passed and then Ranger saw a couple of men come out of the fire-exit door, their shadows moving in front of the graffiti in the feeble yellow stairwell light. One might be Figueroa’s size, though in winter coats it was hard to tell. At the same time, a car rolled slowly past his other side. Moving quietly, Ranger slipped out of his car and padded into the shadows. </p><p>As the car slowed down in front of the building, he readied his stun gun for quick deployment and turned in that direction. With a view of the idling car, Ranger could see that the driver was male and seemed alone. He'd decided the driver was too small to be Figueroa at the same moment the building’s front door opened and a woman stepped out by herself. Ranger pulled back into the shadows and hurried in the other direction, after the two men who'd left by the fire door.  </p><p>Rounding the corner, he saw their silhouettes and heard their voices. Not English, by the rhythm, but he needed to hear the words. He moved closer as he trailed them, keeping to the shadows. Finally one of the men stopped to light a cigarette; the one built like Figueroa. Ranger realized that they were speaking an Asian language at the same time the man turned. Ranger could see his features. Filipino or Indonesian. Not Figueroa after all.</p><p>Ranger returned to his car and slid in silently. Damn, he thought, this was one of the many times on this job that he wished he’d been able to hire Hector, one of the handful of former Rangemen who still worked independently. Hector would have been perfect, both due to skills and because Ranger would know he was fully loyal and unconnected to any of the alphabet agencies. Those connections had been why he ultimately hadn’t felt comfortable hiring either Manny or Zero for this job, though they also free-lanced like Hector.</p><p>Unfortunately, Hector was not exactly a free agent at the moment, since he was mid-way through serving a nickel up at Lincoln Correctional for a trumped-up B&amp;E charge. Ranger was still furious that he hadn’t been able to get Hector out of that. At least, when he’d found out about it, he’d been able to cash in a couple of favors to get Bobby, Lester, and a Trenton jewelry store owner Hector had helped to appear as character witnesses, so Hector was on track for early release. </p><p>Hector just had to keep dodging any Slayers, Latin Kings, or Trinitarios in the jail who might be gunning for him. When Ranger had mentioned that on a recent visit, Hector had grinned his scariest smile and simply said, “<em> No problemo </em>.” For just a moment, Ranger had felt a little pity for any would-be threats who crossed Hector’s path. It was fleeting, and it was only a small amount of pity. But there it was: This was Hector. He’d smiled back at Hector’s vulpine grin; the acknowledgement between predators catching each others’ eyes over the waterhole.  </p><p>He shrugged briefly. When this mess of a case was over, he’d look into the idea he’d been building over the past several months. Leveraging the Private Investigator’s licenses he had in several states, he could accept more of the low-level surveillance jobs he was offered. That would give him a way to hire Manny, Zero, and eventually Hector. Maybe Vince, too. </p><p>They were spread out across three states at this point, but that wasn’t a problem in the surveillance business. They’d have full-time work and a justified paycheck, and they could stop taking sketchy jobs to make ends meet. It wouldn’t be grandiose like Rangeman; nothing with his name on the door. Just a job they did well and a regular paycheck to be proud of. </p><p>His thoughts were interrupted by a tall, hunched figure hurrying into the building. In the shadows it was hard to tell, though it could be Krc. The Jehovah’s Witness ladies had described a man who sounded a lot like him: slim, tall but stooped, and with a damaged face. </p><p>Slipping out of the car again, Ranger ducked silently behind the hunched figure, following him into the building. Following up the stairs, Ranger watched while the lean man slipped through an apartment door. He finally got a glimpse of the man’s profile as he closed the door and saw the ragged scar crossing his long nose and running down his cheek. Definitely Krc.</p><p>Ranger tested the door and then silently pulled out his lock pick. He heard a phone ring, followed by Krc’s muffled voice. Using that distraction he began working the lock. However, at the unmistakable sound of a window being thumped open, Ranger leaned back and kicked his weight into the door twice, bolting into the apartment with wood fracturing away from around the doorlock. </p><p>Ranger raced to the window and pushed the billowing curtains out of the way. One hand on the window frame for balance, he started to follow out the window. But then he saw that his partial weight on the fire escape was pulling a rusted bolt away from the outside wall, with a second already loose. A metallic clang on the ground followed, and Ranger looked down. </p><p>Krc had obviously slid down the stair railings on his hands, submarine style. He was about to drop to the ground near an alley where Ranger would likely lose him. Ranger reached reflexively for the gun in his waistband and, for a split second, set up to shoot Krc in one of his feet. Then he remembered he wasn’t an Army Ranger hunting enemy combatants. Nor was he on a sanctioned ‘stop-at-all-costs’ hunt for one of the alphabet agencies. He didn’t even have skip-trace paperwork for Krc, let alone a reason to shoot him with an unlicensed gun in an urban neighborhood. </p><p>Swearing to himself, Ranger pulled back and took stock of the apartment. First things first, he went to the apartment door; nobody was in the hall yet so he swept away the wood splinters and pulled the door closed. He looked around. No computer, no TV, no phone. But, plenty of papers scattered on tables and chairs. He switched his outdoor gloves for a set of medical gloves he’d picked up at the drug store. </p><p>He found an empty trash bag in the kitchenette, shoved the papers into it, and then started going through drawers. He pulled out a couple of IDs—one was obviously Figueroa—and some travel documents, along with hand-written notes. He added that to the bag. He dumped the contents from a McDonald’s bag and wadded the contents of a small shredder into it. Hearing sounds in the hall, he quickly unbuttoned his coat, stuffed the bags under his shirt, and then re-buttoned his coat. As soon as the voices passed to the elevator, Ranger slipped out of the apartment and into the stairwell at the other end of the hall.</p><p>He opened the outer door carefully, slipping immediately into the shadows behind the building. Snow had started to fall; enough for footprints to leave tracks. He skirted the street lights and found the alley where Krc had gone. Creeping down the darkened path, he searched for any obvious exits or hiding places. However, at the other end, he could see footprints that ended where someone—probably Krc—had gotten into the passenger side of a car and left the scene. Having found little else of interest, he circled back to his car. </p><p>Soft speckles of icy white snow flickered slowly under the battered street lights. Enough had already fallen to obscure some of the obvious litter and broken bottles and envelop the neighborhood in a strange moment of quiet. Ranger slipped into the car, the metallic squawk of the car door echoing down the silent street. </p><p>He started the car and turned on the windshield wipers to clear the dusting of snow off the window. He started the fan to clear fog from the inside of the windows and reached over for a few paper towels to speed the process. Only a few hours from dawn, it was time to head home. Well, he corrected himself, he was headed back toward Steph’s place. Regardless, he was going back to a comfortable bed in a warm room. </p><p>Thanks, Steph, he thought to himself as he got far enough away to turn on his headlights without being spotted. Still exhausted and sore, he realized that it did feel like he was on the path headed home, after all.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To be continued... </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Weaving Together</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 11: Weaving Together</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took one hand off the steering wheel to turn up the volume on the radio as she watched the traffic light turn to red ahead of her. Humming along to “Manic Monday” she reflected that, on this particular Monday, mid-morning traffic in the city was the opposite of manic. Well, maybe the people were manic but the cars certainly weren’t. She could see cars inching along for blocks ahead of her. Everyone was back to work, back to errands, back to grumpy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And today they’d also apparently forgotten how to drive. Last night’s snow had become a slushy rainstorm that had spawned an epidemic of fender benders well into the mid-morning. At least the rain had ended and the temperature was climbing into the high 40s, which was more typical for this time in November. They’d all be spared the start of New England weather—and New England heating oil bills—for a few more weeks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she watched the light ahead of her turn red, Stephanie relaxed. She wasn’t expected back at the precinct until noon. Since the Veterans Center and Shelter Task Force meeting at the Huntington YMCA had ended early, she had almost an hour. That meant she should be able to make a little side trip, even with the backed up traffic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She started singing along with the radio. She just felt like singing, like flying, like dancing in-place in her car. And she recalled for about the fiftieth time already this morning why the entire day felt different than usual: Ranger was here. </span>
</p>
<p><span>It was breathtaking and strange, almost like she was dreaming. But she’d had enough dreams of Ranger to know this was different. It was more like a memory had materialized like an angel tumbling from the</span> <span>heavens into the middle of her world—like a Ferris wheel suddenly planted in her backyard—and her normal life was shrugging and fitting itself around his presence.  </span></p>
<p>
  <span>This morning, for example, was just another day of adapting their well-known Grandpa Plum Breakfast Protocol, as Mary Alice termed it, to keep from waking Ranger. She chuckled briefly, remembering Lisa’s confusion that Ranger had stayed out until nearly dawn. Mary Alice had deadpanned that it was because Ranger was out chasing bad guys, and it was well known that bad guys stayed out way after bedtime and never brushed their teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing there was no way to bypass Sarah's ever-observant gaze, Stephanie had lightly kicked Mary Alice under the table while she told Lisa that Mary Alice was joking. Then, to Lisa’s obvious relief, Stephanie assured her that Mary Alice had been partly right. Ranger was indeed one of the good guys and he'd stayed out late because he was trying to capture some very bad people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that, yes, Ranger also was well known to brush his teeth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed out loud. She could see so much of Albert in Lisa, and so much of Val in Angie. And, frankly, a lot of herself in Mary Alice and Sarah. Yet she continued to marvel at how each of them was their own distinct person. Sometimes it felt like an impossible balancing act, and sometimes she wondered where she got the energy. But whenever she felt stressed, she’d remember mornings like today.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she’d remember Mary Lou telling her that the secret to parenthood was a mixture of love, paying attention, and remembering to be the adult when needed. And she’d think of Lula taking her hand in the dark days in Trenton, assuring Stephanie that it was in her nature to show people the path to their better selves. That she should focus on being the best Stephanie Plum she could be and that the girls would figure out from her example what they needed for themselves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She kept her fingers crossed that it was all true. Or, if it was really all dumb luck like she’d overheard a couple of women claim at a recent neighborhood outreach session, she’d take that, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stuck behind another red light, Stephanie stretched in her seat, fighting a yawn. Well, it had already been a long day. She’d woken in the gray hours between true night and dawn, surprised to hear Ranger coming in. Her surprise wasn’t that he’d been out so late, but that she’d actually heard a couple of footsteps as he made his way through the apartment and then down the hall to the den to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was probably because she knew the old house and the sounds of everyone’s footsteps on the stairs at night. And also because she had developed a second sense for where the girls were at night. But, it did make her wonder exactly why she’d rarely woken up back in Trenton when he slipped into her apartment and then left before morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Regardless of what had happened in the past, though, waking up this morning—knowing it was Ranger—had left her with the oddest mixture of feeling right and feeling confused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking about Ranger, she wondered how he was doing today. She hadn’t seen him yet, but remembering how Ranger never seemed to need more than a few hours of sleep, Stephanie picked up her hands-free headset and phone from the passenger seat. With a quick glance she found Ranger’s cellphone number in the recent incoming list and pressed ‘call.’</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” he answered on the first ring, while Stephanie was still putting in the hands-free earpiece.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo yourself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Steph, you at work?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, on the road back to the precinct. I just thought I’d call to see how things are going.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still in your kitchen. I was just getting ready to follow up some leads I found last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good. Sounds like you must have had a productive stakeout.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was mixed,” Ranger paused. “I spotted Krc and followed him to what looks like a safe house where Figueroa and a couple other people had stashed some documents. The bad news is that I doubt that either of them will go back there now, so I’m still on the hunt. The good news is that these guys never heard of safes and they're too cheap to buy a shredder that really works, so I’ve pieced together a bunch of notes and papers. That’s what I was going through this morning.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find anything good?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The usual random receipts for things like Big Macs and Happy Meals, deodorant, pliers, and lapdances. Not necessarily in that order,” he added with dark amusement. Stephanie snorted while Ranger continued, “I did, though, snare counterfeit passports for Figueroa and Krc, along with the makings of a fake New York driver’s license with a photo that looks like Burc Aburek. That's the first physical evidence that actually ties those three together."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wow, that’s something. What do you think it means?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't know yet. I don't have enough information that tells me </span>
  <em>
    <span>why </span>
  </em>
  <span>they're linked." She heard the sound of water running briefly in the sink and then the clink of dishes. "I pieced together part of a rental car receipt that listed an address in another part of Mattapan that I'm going to check out today. I have a couple of other places to check-out based on other tips. Then, there's possibly a meeting in a pub tonight that I might want to investigate. I’ll keep you posted.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, let me know if you need anything,” Stephanie said as she turned her car left at the intersection. She briefly nibbled her lower lip and then asked, “How about you! Ranger? Are you doing okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone was quiet for a moment and then Ranger added quietly, “Yeah Steph. I’m doing much better than a couple of days ago. Thanks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled. “I’m glad,” she said simply. After a comfortable silence that also spoke to her as loud as words, Stephanie remembered something. “Ranger, before I forget... I asked Mrs. Arshad downstairs to sign for any packages that come for either me or you today. I told her you’re my friend who’s here on a business trip, so she’ll be fine if you knock on her door. She's the soul of discretion and never opens other peoples' mail.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Steph,” he answered. There were more shuffling sounds and then he said in an offhand tone, “By the way, I fixed the fourth slot on your toaster.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a brief pause to replay his words in her head, Stephanie giggled. “Wow, Ranger. Thanks. Um… that’s been out of commission for a couple of months.” She hit herself on the forehead, hoping to reactivate the “remember to say smart things” part of her brain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was just mechanical. Good as new, now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked left, then right to make sure she was awake. Seemed likely. “Well, okay then." As the silence on the line stretched she heard herself babble, "Gee, if you get bored while you’re here, I have a list of other kinda annoying things I need to fix.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No promises, Steph. But if you leave the list out with a toolbox, I’ll look into them if I have the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt her mouth open in astonishment. “Jeez Ranger, I was just kidding. When I said you should make yourself at home, I didn’t mean that you had to become Mr. Fixit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No problem. Sometimes it helps me to work with my hands while I’m thinking. I do it all the time at home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could hear more rustling in the background; Ranger was probably pulling his stuff together for the day. “Okay, I’ll think about it,” she replied vaguely, her attention distracted by the image of Ranger surrounded by toaster parts in her kitchen, screwdriver in hand. Images of his strong hands....</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling herself together, she cleared her throat. “Okay Ranger, I know you need to head out so I won’t keep you. Just… well, don’t get shot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” she heard him chuckle. “Don’t go crazy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Might be too late for that,” she answered even as she heard the heavy quiet on the phone that meant Ranger had already ended the call. She shook her head and snorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Darned Ranger phone manners. She looked up at the clock and then at the road. She had time for one more call if she kept it quick. She looked down briefly and selected a number she knew by heart.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Steph,” Mary Lou answered after only one ring, “What’s shakin’, Bacon?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. "What's the deal, Banana Peel?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well the biggest news here is that I'm going with Lenny's sisters on Wednesday for an all day, shop-’til-you-drop outing to the Quaker Bridge Mall on Wednesday. With chair massages! It’s not even Thanksgiving on the calendar but it's Retail Christmas already, baby. Hold me back.” Over Stephanie's laughter she added, "Let me know if there's anything you want me to get. If I find it on sale I can stash it here until you guys come in December."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I'll have to think seriously about that. You are the holiday sale champion. And with Angie in college and Mary Alice on the verge, I could use the help. But hey, I'm in my car and only have a few minutes so let me lay my news on you, and I'll let you know about shopping tomorrow."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hit me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay, so guess which dark, mysterious, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span> person showed up here in Boston this weekend and is in my house at this very moment. Let me stress </span>
  <em>
    <span>mysterious</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>missing</span>
  </em>
  <span> again."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Holy cats, Steph! Is Ranger there?" Mary Lou's voice ended up, in a squeak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm hmm,” Stephanie answered, her wry smile echoed in her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow! So, I gotta know, did he have an Academy Award winning excuse? Or did you drop a bag of kitchen garbage on his head like I did to Lenny back when we were dating, when he left town for a week with no notice for Barry Janov's bachelor party? Did you tell him he was a total ass-hat for disappearing for so long?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Stephanie forced out over her laughter. "Ranger isn't exactly the kind of guy you trash-bag or ass-hat unless you're okay with maybe waking up in the Third World somewhere.” She paused to wipe away her tears of laughter from under her eyes. “Well, actually, Ranger would never do that to me. If he was going to, probably it would’ve been when my skip grabbed my gun and shot Ranger in the thigh when he was first teaching me to bounty hunt.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Mary Lou giggling on the other end of the phone, Stephanie added, “I confess, though, that the trash-bag-on-the-head image is excellent. I'm going to have a hard time keeping a straight face the next time I see Ranger." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through her own laughter, Mary Lou exclaimed, "But seriously, Steph. Is he like a locust that just woke up after seven years? What gives?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I don't know the full story yet. But... even though he's never been a normal person, he always had really good reasons for what he did.” She paused for a moment, thinking about what she’d just said. “Well, even if he was seriously communication-challenged, sometimes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, and…?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I know. Me too,” Stephanie answered as she turned onto a side street near Mission Hill. “I talk a lot without saying what’s on my mind. I know this about myself now. But Ranger, he doesn’t say much at all. So when he says something important, it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>real. </span>
  </em>
  <span>And it stands out.” More quietly, she added, “He told me he loved me more than once. There were always conditions when he said it. But he did." She sighed. “I don’t know if I ever said it to him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Steph…” Mary Lou’s compassion reached out across the phone from Trenton.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that's another reason why I won’t garbage-bag on sight," Stephanie continued, not wanting to lose her train of thought. "But Mary Lou, it's even more than that. I don’t know why he disappeared, but it wasn’t just me. Ranger sold his company and left Trenton. Between what Joe and Lula tell me, I think he just dropped out of everyone’s life for awhile.” Distracted for a moment as she spotted a parking spot, she mumbled, “If I’d still been living in Trenton on my own, I probably would’ve gone looking for Ranger after a few months of his disappearance from Trenton.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head as she angled her car into the space between two other cars, she asserted, “Oh, who am I kidding? I would have been like a bloodhound until I found him. Then I probably would have yelled at him for over an hour, doing my whole arm-windmill thing that I never knew I did until I saw Angie doing it to me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a quick breath and continued, "Meanwhile Ranger would've watched me the whole time with his eyebrow raised, and then would’ve just said, 'Babe.' After that I would've stormed off. So, really it's probably best that I just imagine all that happening, without actually ever having done it, and skip the associated angst.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard Mary Lou’s soft laugh. “But, honey,” Mary Lou said gently, “I know how much it hurt you when he left, and then he came back and you didn’t hear from him. Are you </span>
  <em>
    <span>sure</span>
  </em>
  <span> it’s okay that he’s there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I think so,” Stephanie answered slowly, trying to marshal her thoughts as she turned off the car and sat back in the seat, listening to the wet plop of slushy rain on her windshield. “I mean… at his core, he’s a truly good man. He always put himself on the line to do what’s right. Or, actually, to make sure that the best ‘right thing’ happens, even if he has to hurt himself to do that. And he used everything at his disposal and risked his life for me more than once.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stopped for another deep breath. “He doesn’t talk, but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>acts</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She sat up, “You know, I realize right now while we’re talking that the problem was that he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>left.</span>
  </em>
  <span> I mean he acted—without talking. He did what he had to do without saying anything. In a way, he was Ranger being himself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Steph, that still doesn’t make it right that he hurt you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know. And I know I should be angry at him, but that's not what I feel." She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Mary Lou, I think there’s a difference between someone intentionally hurting you versus when you get hurt by accident because they do something they </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do. And, I’m guessing he really needed to drop out of sight for awhile.” She shook her head, “That doesn’t mean he was smart about how he did it, but that’s different.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie knew that Mary Lou could hear the smile in her voice as she added, “In any case, having him here is just… nice. I’ve missed him. Even if he’s sometimes strong but silent about the wrong things.” She tilted her head, “At least this time around I’m not afraid of my own feelings. Not as much as before. And, I get another chance to be friends with Ranger.” Her smile took on a slightly mischievous tilt. “And to maybe tell him I love him in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my </span>
  </em>
  <span>own way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh sweetie, I know you’ve missed him,” Mary Lou answered quietly. Then her voice took on the hard yet humorous edge that Stephanie remembered from years of girlfriend talks. “But Steph, if he flips out on you again, I’m catching the next Amtrak up there and I’ll help you with garbage bags. We’ll get the kind that rip really easily and drop a couple of week’s worth of trash on his head.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Mary Lou, you know you’re my best friend, right? This is only one of the many reasons why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And don’t you forget it!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Stephanie wrapped up the call, feeling ready for anything. She felt a fleeting wish that she could go join Ranger on his stakeout. But instead she got out of her car and dashed through the cold rain to her friend Wilfredo’s pawn shop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hola </span>
  </em>
  <span>’Fredo,” she called out her Spanish 101 greeting as she opened the heavy, barred door to his shop. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Como estás</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” She smiled as she saw her friend’s coal-dark eyes. She knew that a buzzer had sounded when she’d stepped up to the door and that a closed-circuit camera had shown her face on the monitor beside the cash register. Wilfredo always knew what was happening in and around his shop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hola Ciruela</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he answered, using the Spanish word for “Plum” as her name in their own private joke. Before he’d known her name, he’d taken her aside and told her that her colleagues were disrespecting her by calling her a plum. With a fierce, blank face that would have rivaled Ranger’s, he’d said they might as well be calling her a peach or a cherry to be plucked, and he didn’t think she should stand for it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was never sure how she’d triggered such a protective response in this hard man she’d barely known at the time. That moment, and his chagrined laughter when he realized that </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plum </span>
  </em>
  <span>was truly her name, had been the start of their friendship. Having his trust—and his visible support in a couple of tense community meetings—had given her instant ‘street cred’ with a few of the neighborhood activists. Which had helped her reinvigorate the Neighborhood Watch in the area.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her favorite moment, though, was when he’d invited her to his grandmother’s 75th birthday party a few years ago. Stephanie still couldn’t speak much Spanish, but her moans over the family recipes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>asopao </span>
  </em>
  <span>chicken gumbo, roast plantain, and flan had been all the words they’d needed. And the dancing in the blocked-off street had transcended language. She’d saved the picture Wilfredo had emailed of his youngest brother teaching her to salsa while she held her sandals in her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilfredo broke into her reverie. With a speculative glance and lightly ironic voice, he said in thickly accented English, “You know, a friend of yours stopped by the other day to shop. He dropped your name and bought some interesting toys.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie unzipped her heavy and somewhat damp coat, Wilfredo’s gaze shifted subtly to Christophe behind the far counter, then back to her. If his vague language weren’t enough, Stephanie knew Wilfredo was reminding her to be discreet in front of his young employee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled at Wilfredo’s concern, then chuckled as her imagination caught up with Wilfredo’s comment about Ranger buying toys. She suddenly pictured Wilfredo and Ranger sitting on the floor playing with Rock ‘em Sock ‘em Robots. She giggled briefly, “Yeah ’Fredo, your store is like Christmas-time. My friend bought everything he needed for under the tree.” She glanced over at Christophe; yup, definitely listening. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nosy herself, she couldn’t entirely blame him. But, Christophe didn’t need to know that she had a friend out on bail who had just been in the store and bought weapons under-the-counter from Wilfredo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway ’Fredo, thanks for helping out my friend, but that’s not why I stopped by today. I was wondering if your grandma is here, and maybe your sister Daniela too. I’m looking for someone to help with a girl who’s in a group home at the moment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilfredo nodded and told Christophe to remain out front, pressed something under the counter, and then led Stephanie through the door into the private area of the building. He closed the metal door behind him, locking it with a key that he pulled from his boot. It looked like a normal lock, but Stephanie heard the slightly asynchronous sound of more than three deadbolts thrust into place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he led her down the short hallway, Wilfredo commented, “He’s a good boy, Christophe." He waved his arm with the key back toward the door. "I’m glad you convinced me to hire him; he works hard. And he’s brought new customers like you said, since he can talk that Haitian </span>
  <em>
    <span>kreyol</span>
  </em>
  <span> that I don't speak.” He looked at her, his eyes quiet. “It’s just that he’s a young man, and that means he is sometimes foolish.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand ‘Fredo. He’s someone who can learn, though.” In fact, that had been one of the reasons she’d pushed Wilfredo to hire the young Haitian. It gave the boy broader experience than he’d gotten in his own neighborhood, along with a good male role model. And a job, since lack of money seemed to be why Christophe had been caught shoplifting so many times. It wasn't easy being the man of the family at 16, trying to keep his three siblings off the streets.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked over at Wilfredo's guarded expression and reached out to touch his arm, feeling his well-defined muscles under his thermal long-sleeved T-shirt. “But, I do understand your caution and I get what you're trying to tell me,” she added, wanting to reassure Wilfredo that she valued his advice.</span>
</p>
<p><span>The sounds of a </span><em><span>telenovela</span></em><span> echoed in the hallway. No matter the language, she'd discovered that soap operas all sounded</span> <span>the same. Even the Pakistani ones that Mrs. Arshad got from her cousin on home-recorded DVDs. She considered how the world was united daily by the shared midday ritual of over-dramatic dialog, ridiculous outfits, accidental affairs with relatives, intentional affairs that were really stupid, and loud advertisements for useless household products. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>She didn't think she'd said any of that out loud, though Wilfredo had an unusually broad smirk on his face as he stopped by the first doorway in the hall. Before entering, he rapped his knuckles on the doorframe. “Abuelita," he called out over the sound of the TV. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>La Ciruelita está aquí pa’ hablar contigo</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Wilfredo let his grandmother know that Stephanie was there to talk with her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He then backed up and let Stephanie through the door. Nothing much had changed back here since the last time she’d visited. The large sitting room was homey, with bright floral slipcovers on the old sofa and recliner and a battered coffee table covered in magazines and catalogs. A closed circuit monitor was perched on a bookcase, with four views of the pawn shop out front. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, of course, the TV was front and center; the one reasonably new item in the room. As Stephanie entered, Wilfredo’s aunt and one of his sisters glanced over, nodded hello, and then returned their attention to the screen. The small older woman sitting on the sofa, though, swung toward the door with a smile creasing her dark brown face. She patted the sofa next to her. “Estefanie</span>
  <em>
    <span>, venga aquí</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>siéntate conmigo</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had learned enough Spanish to know that the old woman was inviting her to come and sit with her. She reached out to Wilfredo and touched his arm again. "Can you please tell your abuela that I'm just here on a break from work and I can't stay long? I don't want her to think I'm being rude."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and said something in rapid Spanish, to which his grandmother replied equally quickly, her deep espresso-colored eyes flashing. She pointed a bony finger back at her grandson and Stephanie was amused to see muscular, tattooed Wilfredo suddenly look like a hapless boy under the onslaught of his grandmother’s instructions. After several back-and-forth exchanges and matching hand gestures, he tossed his head and then finally barked out a laugh.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, my abuelita says you’re like me, with all work and no gossip. This is apparently a bad thing, and she assures me that my </span>
  <em>
    <span>novia</span>
  </em>
  <span> Graciela will explain this to me this evening.” As he glanced at Stephanie she saw the pursing of his lips that hid a smile. “Abuelita says you can sit down and my sister Mayra will translate, and bring you back out when you’re done. Meanwhile, whether you like it or not, I’m ordered to give you a container of today’s rice-and-beans with </span>
  <em>
    <span>tostones</span>
  </em>
  <span> when you leave, since you apparently should eat more food </span>
  <em>
    <span>de la puebla</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p><span>Mayra looked up, flipping her long and wavy black hair back with her hand. “</span><em><span>Hermano</span></em><span>,” she chastened, spearing her brother with eyes as deep brown as her grandmother’s. “Abuelita</span> <span>said that Stephanie should have more </span><em><span>sabor latino </span></em><span>in her life, more Latin flavor. She did not say she should eat more food.” She looked at Stephanie with amused exasperation. “Men, they are so literal it’s painful sometimes.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Wilfredo looked upward and said something in Spanish that sounded like “God give me patience with perfect sisters.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Putting up her hands in a playful palms-up gesture, Stephanie looked over and said, “Hey, Wilfredo, my sister Val was ‘perfect’ too. I’ve got some great stories; we can commiserate sometime.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Wilfredo puffed out a wry laugh as he backed out of the door, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Está bien</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’ll see you when you’re ready to leave, with that dish of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sabor latino</span>
  </em>
  <span> that you apparently need in a non-literal manner.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed along with Mayra and Wilfredo’s aunt, who’d been listening-in from a wing chair on the far side of the sofa. Looking between the three women, she could see the family resemblance in their intelligent dark eyes under straight eyebrows and the ironic twist to their lips. She could imagine family pictures going back in history; women and men all looking at the camera with Wilfredo’s fierce and forthright honesty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie hung up her coat on the old-fashioned coat rack near the door, glad that it wasn’t wet enough to drip on the floor. She walked over to the sofa and sat down, feeling the springs sag under her with a groan. The sofa was clearly as, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>vintage </span>
  </em>
  <span>as the dented Mr. Coffee and the industrial-sized microwave that sat on a table in the back of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a gentle brush against her hand, Stephanie turned slightly to face both Mayra and her grandmother. In bursts that Mayra translated, Stephanie asked for foster help on behalf of the teenager her friend in the Department of Youth Services had mentioned in a quick call this morning. The girl had been put in a group home after her family threw her out for having the evil eye. But now she was starting to get into fights. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though it wasn’t really police business, Stephanie was hoping to find a sympathetic situation for her. In the back of her mind, Stephanie pictured the poor girl as a young Grandma Bella Morelli in the making, needing someone to teach her how to play nice with others. Something Grandma Bella apparently never had learned, Stephanie thought with a moment of remembered irritation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mayra snapped Stephanie from her momentary introspection, confirming that her sister Daniela was still registered to take foster children. With the sharp look of a hawk, Wilfredo’s abuela grabbed Stephanie’s wrist and looked her in the eyes. As Mayra translated she assured Stephanie that they'd find a way to help the girl. Stephanie understood as the old woman told Mayra to have Daniela call Stephanie for more details and phone numbers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Mayra started tapping on her phone, presumably texting her sister Daniela, the old woman turned her deep gaze back to Stephanie. Still holding Stephanie's wrist in her small bony hand, Wilfredo’s abuela said in a fierce whisper, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mira m’ija, hay algo que debo dicirte. Pa’ que tú entiendes con todo tu corazón</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked at Mayra, not sure what the old woman had just said, though she’d understood </span>
  <em>
    <span>corazón</span>
  </em>
  <span>—heart—that staple in Spanish love songs on the radio. Mayra started translating again. With a bit of embarrassment on her face, she said, “Abuela says she has something she has to tell you. That you need to understand it completely, with all your heart.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old lady continued looking deep into Stephanie’s eyes while she spoke, as though she’d transfer her words directly into her mind if she could. Mayra translated, “She says that your friend who visited, that his soul is a protected place… like in a fortress. She says that he fights like a warrior to keep it right, though it is not possible to protect everything through battle and... I think the English word is </span>
  <em>
    <span>siege</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She paused while the old woman spoke again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mayra touched Stephanie’s shoulder to catch her gaze. “Abuelita calls you ‘my daughter’ or ‘my child.’ This means you’re supposed to listen to her like your own grandmother. She also is being a bit mystical. But, she says that this man… that he lights up from within when he hears your name. You clarify or… </span>
  <em>
    <span>show </span>
  </em>
  <span>the way for his soul.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Listening again, Mayra paused. “She says that such a fierce soul will only follow if he knows you will not go from side-to-side.” Mayra frowned. “I think she means that he would back off if you seem to go back-and-forth in your loyalty.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old woman nodded and briefly pinched Stephanie’s wrist with her blunt nails as she spoke again and Mayra translated, “Okay, she’s being all mystical again, so you are supposed to listen with your heart. She says that a warrior will not invite an uncertain ally behind the fortress walls. And that is what Abuela says you need to hear.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stared at Mayra’s earnest expression. Then she looked back at the old woman, whose worn brown hand still encircled her wrist firmly yet gently. In her piercing eyes, Stephanie saw compassion. The old woman’s other hand came up and softly cupped Stephanie’s cheek. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ya entiendes todo lo que necesitas saber.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without needing Mayra to translate, Stephanie knew she’d been told that she already understood everything she needed to know. Mayra hadn’t been kidding that her grandma was being a bit mystical.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hasta luego, m’ija</span>
  </em>
  <span>” the old woman finally said in farewell, a small, closed-mouth smile on her face as she pulled her hands into her lap and turned her attention back to the TV.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Gracias Abuela</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Stephanie managed to answer in her basic Spanish as she rose. Nodding at Mayra’s indulgent smile, Stephanie shrugged on her coat and purse. Mayra led her from the warm room, back out to the shop. Wilfredo left Christophe to talk with the man on the other side of the shop who was negotiating the price of a slightly dented saxophone. Reaching under the counter, he pulled out a plastic bag that he shoved into Stephanie’s hands as though it were radioactive.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Mayra laughed, Stephanie looked inside at a large Tupperware container of rice and beans and a foil bundle that was probably the fried plantains, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>tostones</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She had a sneaking suspicion that the faded Tupperware container had been empty on one of Wilfredo’s shop shelves when she’d arrived earlier. Regardless, it smelled heavenly and she couldn’t help but moan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ay mujer</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Wilfredo said, pushing her toward the door. As she turned and said goodbye, he raised an eyebrow and wished her a good yet literal lunch. Stephanie heard Mayra’s full throated laugh again as she headed back outside. She dashed to where her car was parked and shoved the bag onto the passenger seat as she bolted into the driver’s seat, closing the door against the cold drizzle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She drove back to the precinct in a daze. It almost felt like she’d spent an afternoon in her old friend Mooner’s suspiciously smoky livingroom. Yet she knew her daze was mental, not physical. Abuela’s imagery wouldn’t leave her; seeing Ranger as a warrior was easy. She’d always seen him that way. But now, she pictured him alone in a battered fortress, watching for her allegiance. Her heart ached at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The image of him observing her Saturday night at dinner came unbidden to her mind. Viewing her calmly, eyes attentive yet guarded, evaluating quietly. The way he’d often done back in Trenton, an amused yet distant look in his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it hit her. Surveillance. He watched and listened better than anyone she knew. He made theories based on what he </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where Stephanie acted on instinct, Ranger acted on information and patterns. She’d worked for the past few years with a former profiler, so she finally understood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, what did he know about Stephanie? That she had faith in him. That she offered her home to him. That she cared about him…. But also that she’d always tended to misdirect with her conversation, as she’d admitted to Mary Lou. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she remembered the other part of Saturday evening; his stiff wariness of Darius and his closed reaction to hearing Joe’s voice. Another revelation: Maybe he saw her easy friendships with men as meaning they were interchangeable in her heart. Especially after years of dating Joe while falling for Ranger’s heated seductions. Probably she confused him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe he was a warrior wondering about her allegiance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A tap on her car window startled her. “Yikes,” she shouted as she realized that she’d arrived at work and was still sitting in the parking lot. Her cube neighbor Janice was standing outside her car door, umbrella in hand.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Steph, you okay?” Janice asked, concern on her face. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie opened her car door and stepped out, grabbing her purse and her bag of food. “Yeah, thanks Jan. Was just thinking about a couple of things. But I’m good.” Idly, Stephanie mused that Janice always looked like the country club receptionist that she’d been before the last economic downturn brought her to her current job with the BPD. Meanwhile Stephanie was sure she looked like soggy squirrels had built a nest in her own curly hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice shifted the umbrella so it covered them both. “Let me walk you to the door so you don’t get sopping,” Janice said as though Stephanie had the option to refuse. Smiling ruefully, Stephanie nodded and they walked briskly to the precinct building’s back door. After which, Janice waved goodbye and headed back on her way to lunch at Subway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a deep breath and badged herself into the building. Inside, she stopped for a moment and focused on the practical. She considered that the bag of food she was clutching was enough for at least three lunches; maybe four if she stretched it. She tried to remember if she still had a 10% off coupon for soda at the 7-11. She tried to visualize if she had an umbrella in her cube, or whether she could borrow Janice’s later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally feeling centered in the here-and-now, she walked down the hall toward the kitchenette until she heard her boss calling her name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Ryan,” Stephanie said as she leaned in his door. “You bellowed?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he answered, standing up from his desk and picking up his jacket from a filing cabinet. “Come in for a second, Plum. I gotta head out for that frickin’ press conference this afternoon, but wanted to check if you got everything you need for that Veterans’ shelter thing for the mayor’s office.” Generations of Boston Irish in his family shaped his speech, turning his “r”s into “ah”s. Stephanie still found it funny that he looked like Denis Leary and sounded like he’d just stepped out of “The Heat” or “Good Will Hunting.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan looked over as he put on his jacket and ran his hand through his mop of red hair in a hopeless attempt to make it lay straight. Realizing that he was waiting for an answer, Stephanie replied, “Yeah, all set. I’ll brief you on the meeting tomorrow if you’re in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, sounds good.” His jacket half buttoned, Ryan leaned his hip back on his desk while he took a sip from a can of Dr. Pepper and gazed at her over the rim. “So Plum,” he said casually as he shook the can and then tossed it in the recycling bucket in the corner. “I saw some paperwork from this weekend that says you maybe have an interesting house guest,” his brows raised slightly. “Everything okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, thanks for checking,” Stephanie nodded. “Ranger—I mean Ricardo Mañoso—is someone I know from back in Jersey.” Stephanie knew it was standard procedure to earmark when BPD members bailed someone out or accepted custody. She’d bailed out a couple of kids in the past, and was familiar with the forms that Ryan had found on his desk this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She also knew that Ranger wouldn’t look like one of her ordinary “reclamation projects.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you know I trust you,” Ryan replied slowly, “but you also know I have to keep tabs, given the nature of the charges against him. So, keep me posted if there’s anything I should hear about first.” His eyes gazed at her while he perched, leaving space for her to speak.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment she nodded, “Of course.” He nodded and rolled his hand, gesturing for her to continue. She felt the mantle of Ranger descend on her shoulders; the weight of walking a straight line through a morally muddied world. Yet she owed her boss, her friend, the best answer she could provide. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked him in the eye. “Ryan, I know the charges against Ranger are serious. But, they feel like a set-up to me.” He nodded again, his deep eyes a contrast to his boyish russet hair. She continued in a measured voice, “I can’t prove it, and won’t do anything to jeopardize the investigation,” she hurried to add. “But he’s my friend and I’ll support him the best I can.” As he tilted his head, she asserted, “You know, the way I do for everyone I help.” She kept eye contact, as he continued to watch her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corner of his lip finally twitched into a knowing smile. “If anyone can help him—keeping within the letter of the law, I feel compelled to add—it’s you.” Ryan said with a speculative look. Then he nodded as though he’d made a decision as he pushed off from his desk. Ryan patted her shoulder as he stepped through his office door on his way out, fastening the final buttons on his jacket as he went. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watched him head out, then continued down the hallway with a stop to shove her container of rice and beans in the refrigerator. Ending up in the open room where her cube was located she shrugged her purse off her shoulder and hung up her damp coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she sat down, Stephanie gazed at the work-themed photos tacked to her cube wall. Her eyes were drawn to the faded picture from a distraction back in Trenton; it was as though she was seeing it for the first time. She was standing in Ranger’s arms, gazing into his face while he leaned against his car. His eyes focused completely on her; his expression was amused, indulgent, and fierce. Had she been looking directly into his eyes yet not seeing him at all? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How could she let him know who she was, without confusion? She took in a deep breath and felt her shoulders straighten: Time to start trying.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Sensing the Way</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 12: Sensing the Way</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger drummed his fingers on his steering wheel in time to the rain as he sat parked along a side street. All three reasonable means of entering the apartment building were under surveillance in some manner. The front entrance was within the view of a small liquor store’s street camera and probably had its own camera as well. The rear entrance had a camera mounted on the wall. And the fire escape was in full view of the adjacent men’s shelter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt the twitch of a smile; if there were any residents indoors at the shelter during the day, they were probably so bored that they’d be likely to spot any activity in the next-door apartment building. Too bad they didn’t have a good sight-line to the front door or he could manufacture a reason to talk with a few of the men. If there had been anyone outdoors today smoking or just hanging out, he’d have tried anyway.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a good question whether the apartment building’s cameras actually worked. However, until he’d done basic due diligence, it wasn’t worth the risk of getting captured on-camera entering it. If he decided it was worth investigating from inside, he could try pulling a full disguise later. Or, at night he could jimmy the basement window of the boiler room at the rear of the building, and slide in that way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the moment, he’d identified a path to the liquor store that was likely to keep his face off most of the cameras. And, since he wasn’t about to repeat last week’s amateur-hour visit to that goddamn Allston bodega, he’d already made sure that the back door was locked without key access. And he’d affixed a cheap electronic motion detector that hadn’t yet been jarred. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mentally Ranger shrugged; it was basic tradecraft in the electronic era. Which he was determined to follow after his painful reminder that getting careless could get you dead. Even in situations like today’s recon, where it was unlikely he was being observed in return. After all, he didn’t think he’d been meant to find today’s address from within the confetti of an abandoned shredder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he’d been careful last night coming home, after he’d obviously been spotted trailing Krc into that tenement. Given everything he’d seen over the hours he’d been there, the spotter had obviously been in the car that picked up Krc. That car had been on the opposite side of the building from Ranger, closer to main streets and escape routes. So, never in line-of-sight to spot Ranger's car. And, Ranger had made sure he hadn’t been tailed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, no reason to suspect he was being watched today. With that thought, Ranger shrugged off his coat and threw on a cheap red flannel shirt and gray hoodie he’d bought at a local thrift shop. He finished by pulling on a pair of cheap black-framed reading glasses from the drugstore. Just enough to misdirect anyone looking specifically for him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling the hood over his head, Ranger angled out of the car and moved through the cold spatters of rain toward the liquor store. The red neon “open” sign flickered slightly in the dingy front window, just under the bottom lip of the rolled-up exterior security grating. Bacardi and Coors Light ads sat crookedly in the window, while the rotating Budweiser Clydesdales in the hanging lamp had ceased their dusty parade sometime in the long forgotten past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking through the window, Ranger confirmed that it was a moment without customers. He slid in the door and quickly spotted a young man near the antique hand-operated register, both behind a partition of yellowed bullet-proof acrylic. It looked like the clerk was the only person in the store, though Ranger assumed that an office was concealed behind the mirror that reflected the register and front door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger easily persuaded the skittish register clerk to call out the manager, a middle aged man whose pale complexion spoke to the hours he spent indoors at the store. More conversation, and the exchange of a couple hundred dollar bills in a handshake, earned Ranger a small Tillamook Jerky cardboard display box containing a VHS tape. Ranger speared the manager with a glare that promised a return visit if the tape didn’t contain the past 36-or-so hours of street activity as promised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, a bottle of Vitaminwater, and a cheap umbrella purchased from a bucket in the front of the store, Ranger threaded his way back to his car. Of course the rain had stopped, so he threw the umbrella on the floor behind the passenger seat along with his other bags. Settling in the front seat he took off the fogged-up glasses and watched the neighborhood.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still not much going on, even though it was past noon. It wasn’t just the weather; Ranger could tell this was the type of neighborhood where people didn’t know each other or linger. In fact, the liquor store seemed to be the main reason for foot traffic at this hour. As he watched, a hunched older man with dusty skin scuttled out of the building, a paper bag and two small one-shot bottles in his hands. An overweight woman jostled the man’s arms as she headed in.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, despite the traffic at the store, neither the clerk nor manager had claimed to recognize the pictures of Figueroa, Krc, or the other men Ranger was loosely tracing. Of course, that was the safest approach in a neighborhood like this. It was entirely possible that one or more of them were regulars, though oddly he hadn’t found much evidence of alcohol consumption as he’d tracked Figueroa all the way up from Puerto Rico. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another interesting part of the puzzle, though it might not mean anything. Since Figueroa and a few of the other men were presumably traveling with children it might just mean that they only drank when away from family. Mixed amongst details that nailed the case were always puzzle pieces that didn’t fit and clues that dead-ended. It was never clear until the last minute.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Honestly, while often frustrating, sifting through the data was part of the fascination that kept him coming back to these jobs. That and the ability to use all of his skills. Screw it: to feel fully alive. After all, he didn’t truly need to work for money anymore. Hadn’t since he’d sold his share of Rangeman, though his commissions helped him feel no pain at paying his daughter Julie’s tuition and expenses at Sarah Lawrence College. The money also had nicely bulked up the trust fund he’d set up for her, along with ones for his nieces and nephews.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger watched a patrol car drive slowly down the street. A quick glance at the plate confirmed that the same vehicle had gone by about twenty minutes ago, and at least once before that. Taking a breath, Ranger buckled-in and started his car. Waiting for the engine to warm up, he scanned for missed calls on his phone and checked the handful of new emails. Then, after a mental review of Steph’s home entertainment system, he did a quick map search. Putting the car in gear, he pulled out and headed toward the nearest BestBuy to buy a cheap VHS tape player.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drove, he reflexively doubled back and went through parking lots to evade tails, though he didn’t see any. And he puzzled over details that still bothered him. The connection that Stephanie had found on Saturday—that Krc had worked at the same dock as Figueroa in Galveston—had given him the first concrete explanation of how such different men had come together. Not why, but at least how.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, there was still something odd: how did a guy with probable weapons experience in his semi-restless homeland and apparent grand-theft-auto experience in the U.S. get a job in Texas at a major commercial dock? He’d hinted around that question in a conversation this morning with an old contact from Blackwater, or whatever the hell they called themselves these days. If his contact found anything, Ranger knew he’d be in touch.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered if Steph saw that anomaly also. He smiled: Stephanie always had been the best at ferreting out details that changed the game. She wouldn’t always know that she’d found the key, the winning hand, the missing piece of the puzzle. She’d find it along with other random pieces of information. And, in fairness, Ranger recalled that he never knew either. But then, she’d say something and it would come together. It had happened again and again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, they’d had people at Rangeman who were more adept at online searches, more painstaking in streetwork, and more trained overall. But Stephanie had the best </span>
  <em>
    <span>instinct</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She had the best understanding of human nature. Ranger could construe it from outside, but Stephanie felt it from the inside. Maybe she didn’t benefit from the combination of experience and skills that Ranger had, but with almost no training she was his peer at putting together raw intel to solve a case </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He truly didn’t want to embroil her in his current cock-up of a job, but it felt damned nice to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>talk </span>
  </em>
  <span>with her. He’d felt stupid, but her call this morning while he was getting ready to head out had given more energy than a cup of Espresso. More peace than an hour of T’ai Chi. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been as tongue-tied as a teenager, completely unable to think of what to say, so had talked about her goddamn toaster. Alone in the privacy of his car, he rolled his eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he smirked briefly, thinking about how amused his Babe would be to see him do that. Yeah… his Babe. He did still think of her that way. And, honest with himself, he was at least as intrigued by this version of his Babe—of Stephanie Plum—as the one he’d known back in Trenton. He’d worked hard to build a life where he didn't need distractions to keep himself even keel anymore. But even in her new, more stable life, Stephanie’s tireless mind still surprised and amused him; her kindness still felt like a safe harbor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He knew that he really shouldn’t still be staying with her, but it felt right on so many levels. Usually his instincts didn’t clash with his common sense. But this time he’d stay until it was a bad idea. Until it got dangerous. Ranger had always said he was an opportunist, and this was a golden opportunity of the type not often presented to a battlefield scarred man like himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A little over an hour later, a BestBuy bag in his front seat, Ranger pulled past Stephanie’s house after spotting an unfamiliar Honda CRV in the driveway. He parked in her neighbor Darius’ driveway and, on foot, approached the dented CRV from behind Stephanie’s garage. He crouched down as he got close, peering inside the passenger window. Seeing an envelope on the passenger side addressed to Louise Kloughn and a half-eaten jelly donut on the dashboard, he exhaled and stood up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger went back to retrieve his car, he glanced ironically at Darius’ house. Convenient driveway; convenient man. And just like old times, Ranger was slipping in and then away before Steph's convenient man noticed. It was the story of his life; at least his life with Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Ranger mentally shrugged, a smile tugging at his lips, at least this time he was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>inside</span>
  </em>
  <span> man, staying in her house while Darius trotted home at night. And if Ranger could tell anything from the lingering glances he'd caught when Stephanie didn't think he was looking, she still found Ranger attractive. And he hadn’t seen equivalent glances toward Darius. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting his head slightly, he decided he could work with that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger maneuvered his car back into the street and then pulled in behind the CRV. As his car ticked and pinged its protest at being turned off, Ranger retrieved the bag containing the VHS player and cassette from his car. Grabbing his damp coat and flannel shirt, he headed up the walk to Stephanie’s house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inside, a few steps up the staircase, he heard a door open behind him. Ranger turned with a quick yet casual-looking pivot that focused him back toward the door. His free hand hovered near the gun in the small of his back, out of sight from whoever had been behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down, he relaxed as he saw a slim dark woman peering at him, a gold floret adorning her left nostril. Most likely this was Stephanie’s tenant, Mrs. Arshad. She was wearing a wool sweater over a faded tunic and matching baggy pants. From her dress and jewelry she looked Pakistani, probably Punjabi. Under her loose headscarf, her hair was dark with streaks of silver. Ranger estimated she was in her late 40s or early 50s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You are Mr. Man... Mr. Manos? Miss Stephanie’s friend?” She stumbled over his name in a melodic, lightly accented voice. Ranger saw a small hand grasping hold of the woman’s pants; small wide eyes staring from behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ricardo Manoso,” he answered with a nod, stating his last name with its American pronunciation to avoid confusing her. He stepped back down to the inside landing, shrugging the back of his shirt down in a well-practiced gesture to obscure the handle of his gun behind him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait please, sir,” she said as she leaned back, pushing the child behind her. In the opening, Ranger could see the flash of a TV and more children inside the apartment. She turned back to the door with a few overnight envelopes in her hand. Her posture tangled in the little boy, who’d gone back to clutching her leg, staring up at Ranger with serious dark eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With an indulgent smile, she told the boy in her own language—which Ranger immediately recognized as Punjabi Urdu—that grandmama didn’t need guarding from Miss Stephanie’s friend. While still talking, she handed the envelopes to Ranger. Distracted as he looked at the return addresses, Ranger mumbled “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Bahut shukria</span>
  </em>
  <span>” in thanks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breathlessly, the woman turned back to look at Ranger. Still in Urdu, she asked, “You speak our language?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not well,” Ranger replied and then switched back to English. “I studied it a long time ago, but only speak a little.” He didn’t plan on telling her he’d learned Urdu in the Army to be sent undercover into the Pakistani border area to track Taliban. Like most Punjabis, he was sure Mrs. Arshad had no love for the lawless parts of her former country. Yet, admitting that he’d been an invader was never a good path to cordial dealings.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Ranger!” he heard from inside the apartment as a curly headed girl pushed her way past Mrs. Arshad and reached out for Ranger’s free hand. “You’re here! Come upstairs. You can show me that Aikido move.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sarah-</span>
  <em>
    <span>nawasi</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mrs. Arshad chided the girl. “Where are your manners? You didn’t say a proper hello, and we haven’t asked if your mother’s friend would like some tea.” As Sarah mumbled “Hello, welcome home” and tugged lightly on his hand, Mrs. Arshad looked back up at Ranger. With a shy smile she added, “It would be a pleasure if you wish to join us.” She glanced wryly at the boy who’d resumed holding her leg. “And, my grandson is here to defend my honor, though friends of Miss Stephanie’s are always welcome.” She stepped back from the door, leaving room for Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you, </span>
  <em>
    <span>begum sahiba</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said politely, acknowledging her status as an older, married woman. “But I really do need to go upstairs. I need to dry off from the rain, and I have some work to do.” He felt Sarah tugging on his hand again, as she maneuvered herself around him in the hall.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some other time then,” the older woman nodded. “Sarah, please remember to tell your mother that I’ve cooked enough lamb curry so you can have that for dinner tonight.” She looked up at Ranger with a knowing smile, “Perhaps you could help her remember?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, then looked at Sarah who was now pulling his hand from the second stair. His lip lifted in amusement. “I think we’re going upstairs now. Thanks for signing for my mail. There will probably be a couple more packages.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not a problem. I am happy to help Miss Stephanie and her friends.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Pheer malengeh, Nani</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Sarah looked over her shoulder, calling out her farewell to the slim woman in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Arshad smiled and looked back at Ranger. “And you see: you are not the only one who speaks just a little Urdu.” She reached her hand down to the boy who was still clutching her leg. “I am blessed with sons and grandsons, like Mohsin here, but until Stephanie I didn’t have any girls to spoil.” With a wink at Sarah, Mrs. Arshad stepped back into her apartment and began pulling the door closed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded and then let himself be pulled upstairs. Following Sarah through the door at the top of the landing, he paused while he took stock of the room. Mary Alice glanced from the TV to look up at him with a quick smile without taking a break from her phone conversation. He heard his name and then she stretched up and headed upstairs, still on the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he shrugged out of his damp coat, Ranger glanced to the right. Lisa and a gray haired woman looked up from the dining room table, where they had evidently been focused on homework. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Ranger’s home,” Sarah’s voice trilled out, proudly. “Grandma, this is Mr. Ranger.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Kloughn,” Ranger acknowledged as he nodded toward the older woman, changing his plans on the fly. “I’m just here to change out of these wet clothes. Then I’ll be out of your way.” He could come back later to watch the surveillance tape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh goodness,” the older woman said as she twisted her plump hands together. “I mean, hello. Stephanie of course told me that you were staying here, dear. Well, heavens... do you mind if I call you 'dear'? I know you were friends with my Albert, but you don't really know me so I suppose this is all a bit awkward…..”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah continued to tug Ranger forward by the hand while Lisa stood up from the table. Looking up at him with round eyes, Lisa gravely exclaimed, “Mr. Ranger, you’re all wet. You could catch a cold if you’re not careful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah released Ranger’s hand as Mrs. Kloughn turned toward him. She ran her fingers through her loose cloud of hair and clucked, “Heavens, dear, where are my manners. Of course you should come in and change clothes and get warm.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She put one of her hands on Lisa’s shoulder, keeping her close in the dining room. “Oh, I’ve made some hot chocolate if you want, though I’m not sure if you like that, so you don’t have to have any if you don’t want it. Some people don’t, you know. Especially adults. And these days with diets and everything, you never know what people want. When I was growing up, if Reader’s Digest said it was good for you, everyone ate it. But now it could be some doctor on the TV telling you to only eat food that’s yellow. You just never know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lips quirking up into a smile. “Thanks. I’m not much into hot chocolate, but appreciate the offer.” He looked down to see Sarah staring up at him through a mop of curly hair, her face so much like Stephanie’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s fine then,” Mrs. Kloughn interrupted his thoughts. In the corner of his eyes he saw her gently turn and anchor Lisa back into her chair in the dining room. “Don’t worry though,” she continued, “you won’t be in our way if you stay here. I have to go pick up Saul—that’s my husband—in about a half hour to go to his eye doctor’s appointment. He put his knee out at bowling and can’t drive. I’ll take Lisa and Sarah with me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice called from the stairs, as she started clattering back down, “Yeah, and I have to leave in about 15 minutes to catch the 41 bus down to U-Mass. I have a pre-enrollment meeting with their athletic department this afternoon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So soon dear?” Mrs. Kloughn looked up from Lisa's homework. “I’m so sorry I didn’t know about your meeting when I scheduled that doctor’s appointment. I hate to see you spend so much time on buses and trains.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a problem,” Mary Alice bubbled as she walked through the dining room toward the kitchen, reaching around to ruffle Lisa’s hair as she went. “It’s good practice for next year when I have to go there every day.” She strolled back from the kitchen, holding a bunch of grapes on a paper towel. “I figure if I take the next bus, I’ll get there a half hour early. The bus ride’s about an hour, so I’ll work on my History paper. Or, at least think about my History paper.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She dropped back to the sofa and un-paused the TV. Ranger noticed it was a girl’s soccer game. Sarah went over and sat next to Mary Alice, who hadn’t stopped speaking. “In any case, I get pizza afterward with the team I’ll be joining in the fall, and Uncle Darius said he’ll drive me home so I’m not out too late.” She popped a couple of grapes in her mouth and then mumbled, “He says it’s on the way back home, which is a big fat fib. But I’m not going to argue with forty minutes versus an hour-and-a-half.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll drive you there,” Ranger heard himself say, as though he were standing next to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow. Really?” Mary Alice looked up at Ranger, her eyes wide and her bunch of grapes about to fall out of her hand. Sarah grabbed them from her and ate one as Mary Alice continued talking. “You don’t have to. That wasn’t a play for pity, or anything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not how I interpreted it,” he answered briefly. “But, I don’t have any scheduled work for a few hours. If you can wait fifteen minutes for me to change into dry clothes, I don’t mind.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Retroactively, now that he’d offered, he did the math in his head. He actually did have a few hours before it would make sense to go check out this evening’s pub—it would be easier during the after-work rush when strangers would be less obvious. That would still leave time to get back here and fast-forward through the surveillance tape while checking for any new email. Anyway, given the amount of regular police presence he’d spotted in that neighborhood, he wasn’t hopeful he’d find much on the tape. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can take longer than fifteen minutes to get ready,” Mary Alice said quickly, still staring at Ranger from the sofa. “We could leave anytime in the next half hour and I’d be there in plenty of time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, um…” Mrs. Kloughn looked at Mary Alice, “let me just update our plans with your mother first.” From the corner of his eye, Ranger saw her step back toward the kitchen. He smiled inwardly knowing that it wasn’t an update she was planning. Instead, she was checking that it was okay for the scary man to take Mary Alice in a car. Ranger was oddly pleased; Stephanie had adults here who actually looked out for her. And, who trusted her judgment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well done Steph</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought. She was right when she said she had a village. In his heart, he knew that actually his Babe had created that village around herself. It was a talent that still made Ranger marvel. She’d always had it. Even hard cases such as him felt the draw, like the call of the tribe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he mused, he’d drifted closer to watch the TV. He realized that he was watching Mary Alice on the screen. She was playing soccer, dribbling the ball down the sideline. He watched as she juked two players from the opposing team, passed the ball to a screen player on the side, then got in position to receive the ball back. It was a smooth move, executed perfectly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Sarah clapped next to her, Mary Alice tousled her hair and then picked up the remote to fast-forward to the goal attempt. Ranger watched the action as she and two other players on her side approached the goal and tag teamed kicks. One kick almost got in, but the goalie eventually managed to repel the ball to one of her own team members. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Mary Alice exclaimed as she hit rewind on the DVD player and watched the goal attempts again. “We should have scored there.” Sarah leaned forward to watch, mimicking Mary Alice’s posture.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking more closely at the play, after the third goal attempt Ranger asked, “Do you know how to bend the ball ‘right’ from that angle? You might’ve gotten it in, on that kick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice looked up, her lip between her teeth in thought. “Why do you think so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rewind and look at the previous play. Your teammate’s kick took the goalie to her right—your left—at the front of the cage.” Mary Alice rewound, then stopped the action at the point Ranger had spotted. He continued, “She’s right-handed. A bent right-kick to the goal from your angle would’ve landed behind her. It would’ve been awkward for her. Even if she pursued, unless she’s practiced that move her momentum would take her away from where your ball would want to spin.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice leaned forward, eyes on the screen while she advanced the play. “I think you’re right,” she said breathlessly, at which point Ranger’s attention was pulled by Mrs. Kloughn’s voice as she walked into the living room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well of course dear,” Mrs. Kloughn said into the phone, a serious expression on her doughy face, “but you never know these days. I mean you see the strangest things on the news. And, just last week I saw this story on Maury Povich about… well that probably isn’t really the same thing after all...” she paused, looking up at Ranger while evidently listening to Steph talking. “Yes dear,” she said, “yes, of course. Yes, he’s here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, then whispered, “It’s Stephanie,” as she extended the phone to Ranger, as though he wouldn’t have been able to guess. Seeing the slight glisten of sweat on her upper lip, he resisted his subconscious urge to wipe the phone off on his shirt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo Steph,” he said, moving back toward the kitchen. He nodded at Lisa, who smiled at him as he passed behind her chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Steph’s voice came over the phone, a stifled laugh in her slightly breathless voice. “Um, did you actually volunteer to drive Mary Alice down to the U-Mass campus, or is Mrs. Kloughn confused? It’s like 45 minutes from where you are, depending on traffic.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I volunteered,” Ranger said, continuing back toward the den and closing the door. “I have my replacement driver's license. I have some downtime and figured that driving shaves more than a half hour off her commute." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He put down his shopping bag on the sofabed and dropped his damp flannel shirt onto a plastic bag on the floor. Pulling a wooden side chair from the corner of the room, he sat next to the sofa and started sorting through his packages. With a shrug he continued, “Anyhow Babe, I can either sit here and think, or do it while I drive.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard her snort over the phone. “Yeah, I remember your ‘driving zone’.” She chuckled briefly. “Okay, that’s fine then. I told Louise—that’s Mrs. Kloughn—that I’m okay with having you drive Mary Alice. You may need hazard pay, though. She talks at least as much as I do. You won’t be able to even remember that you ever </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>a zone until after you’ve dropped her off.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh. “That’s okay. We can talk about soccer. She’s actually really good, you know. I was watching a video of some game she was in. She’s better than some of the semi-pro guys that used to play in my league in Miami when I was in high school. I can see why she got a scholarship for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You played soccer in high school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, I’m Latino. Of course I played soccer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, I learned something about you today,” she said in a laughing tone. Then, hesitating, “Do you have any videos of your games in high school? I would love to see teenage Ranger playing soccer.” Her voice softer, she murmured, “I can’t even tell you how much I’d love to see that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pondered the unexpected pleasure he felt in imagining her watching one of his favorite summer league soccer games; seeing his 17-year-old swaggering self in the days when he was a boy becoming a man. While he pictured her reactions, she added in a shy voice, “I’d even let you see one of the videos my dad took of my ill-fated baton twirling career.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt himself enjoying the thought. Hell, he felt himself getting suddenly warmer in all the interesting places. Getting to see something from Steph’s past that she found a bit embarrassing felt, well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>intimate</span>
  </em>
  <span> in a beguiling way. And teenage, leggy Steph in a baton twirler’s uniform: a total plus. She interrupted his heated imagination, adding, “If you’re lucky, I might even have the one where I kinda accidentally hurled my baton up Joyce Barnhardt’s nose.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed in rare, relaxed humor. “You know, Babe, there might be some old tapes in the storage locker where I have some stuff from Miami. I’ll look next time I’m there. But I’m motivated now: I definitely want to see a baton twirling video.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard her giggle. “Okay, I’ll look for that while you’re hunting down your soccer videos.” He heard another voice behind Stephanie’s and then, “Oh wait Ranger, hang on a sec.” He heard quick typing, Stephanie’s muffled voice, and then she was back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Ranger, they needed me to reply to a workflow email. I’m all set now. Anyway… back to Mary Alice. Just remember that she’s a teenager and might try testing you. If conversation veers off into the weird, just think of her like Julie. She’s only a couple of years younger. And probably about as fearless.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s reference to Julie stopped him briefly in his tracks. That would work well, Ranger thought wryly, if only he knew how to have a conversation with Julie that didn’t end in a fight. Or with her looking away and refusing to talk with him at all. Ranger was still not sure which was worse. It made him remember, uncomfortably, Stephanie’s assumption that his way of solving problems was to throw money at them. Yeah, that was his relationship with Julie, in a nutshell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, after the briefest of pauses he replied, “Will do, Steph.” Still veering away from thoughts of Julie, he remembered to add, “Oh, by the way, your neighbor downstairs said she has enough dinner for you tonight. But it’s lamb curry; I don’t know if you eat that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah. That’s one of our favorites. Mrs. Arshad kinda accidentally cooks enough for us to have dinner at least once a week." Ranger smirked at the humor in Stephanie's voice as she continued, "Ranger, if you believe it, she’s even gotten me to like spinach the way she cooks it. Who knew spinach had a flavor and didn’t come from a can?” He heard her mumble that her mother should have taken Pakistani cooking lessons and saved countless bunches of spinach from a horrible death. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mrs. Arshad seems like a good person,” he said instead of commenting on the sudden image of Helen Plum wearing a tunic and baggy pants, with a scarf over her head while cooking dinner over a Bunsen burner on the floor. Some things just weren’t meant to be said out loud. Instead, he kept focus on Mrs. Arshad’s role with Stephanie’s family. “She’s got Sarah speaking Urdu.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, all the girls, though Sarah probably knows the most. I think it's neat; they know so much more of the world than I did at their ages. Anyhow, I think Mrs. Arshad cooks for us in thanks because I haven’t raised her rent. I told Darius how much she pays and he says it’s less than half of market rate. But honestly if I could afford to have her live there rent-free I would. I mean, she raised two sons in that house before I ever showed up and now she watches the girls whenever I need. And she’s just </span>
  <em>
    <span>nice</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I’m glad you got to meet her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too, Babe. Well, I should get hustling if I’m going to get Mary Alice there on time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Ranger,” her voice paused, then continued in a muffled whisper. “Before you go, Ranger, I spoke with the lead detective on that shooting case in Dorchester, the one linked to the car where you were found. He promised me they’ll look a bit more into the backgrounds of the ‘vic’s—I mean victims. My spidey sense tells me that they were killed to clean up loose ends that might lead back to your guy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head in amazement, Ranger replied, “Thanks Steph. Just make sure you stay out of trouble.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Ranger,” she said, back to her normal speaking voice. “That’s something I’ve learned how to do, with a little help from my BPD friends.” He heard her take a deep breath and then softly add, “You know, I don’t know whether I said this, but I’m really glad to see you. And I really appreciate that you’re doing something nice for Mary Alice today.” She inhaled again, then she tumbled out, “And I hope you can come back again after this case is over. I’ve missed seeing you.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He wondered briefly what brought this on, but he felt a flush of warmth steal over him as she spoke. He murmured, “It’s good to see you too, Steph. Happy to help.” In a more conversational voice, he added, “I’m probably getting in late again tonight. You’ll have another Grandpa Plum breakfast tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed, a low sound that almost made him feel ticklish. “We can live with that. Have a fun drive, Ranger. Feel free to call me if the teen years get too up-close-and-personal in your car.” He barked a laugh as she added, “Talk to you later, Ranger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Later,” he agreed, timing his thumb on the disconnect button down to the second. He smirked as he stood up, imagining Steph muttering about his phone manners. It never got old.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>About ten minutes later, wearing dry clothes and a heavy sweater, he was ready to head out. He'd gone through his packages, pocketed one of the money orders his banker had sent along with the matching ID and some cash. He’d also pulled out a set of license plates from one of the packages and packed it in the backpack Stony had given him when bailing him out, along with a multi-purpose screwdriver from the drugstore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stashed the rest of the money, IDs, and electronics in the locking cabinet in his room's closet, picked up his backpack, and headed into the kitchen.. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he reached into the cookie jar for a granola bar, he mulled over the leaning hallway in the back area of Stephanie’s house. He’d have to look downstairs, but he was pretty sure that the back porch had been built as an add-on without sufficient foundation. A hundred-or-so years later, gravity had simply done its job. If so, he knew how it could be fixed. He wondered if Steph would let him do that to repay her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he grimaced, maybe if he didn’t let on how much it would cost. He could easily afford the expense, but also remembered her comment that he would have tried to fix her problems in Trenton with money. The way he’d dealt with Rachel and Julie. The way he dealt with his own family, truth be told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In his view, that was what money was for. Just like when he was in the Army; if he wasn’t around, at least everyone had housing, his salary and benefits, and his pension in the worst case. Christ, he’d sacrificed himself to marriage to make sure Rachel and Julie had all of that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, Stephanie’s explanation of what she’d really needed after Val had died had been a real punch to the gut. It made him realize that he’d been giving money—and tuition, and cars—more than himself for a long, long time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Mrs. Kloughn enter the room, he turned around and made sure his expression was neutral. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh hello dear,” she smiled at him, “it’s really very nice of you to drive Mary Alice to her appointment. Of course, I’ve heard so many good things about you that I’m not surprised.” She held her pudgy hands together, a kind expression illuminating her flushed face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m happy to help,” Ranger nodded as he pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, I hope I didn’t hurt your feelings by double-checking it was okay for you to drive Mary Alice. These days, you can’t be too sure. And even though I know my Albert was always a good judge of character—he should have gone into working with people like me, instead of law like his father—it’s Stephie’s call to make, not mine.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand Mrs. Kloughn,” Ranger replied, gracefully drifting toward the dining room door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded, reaching up to brush back a gray lock of hair from her forehead. “Yes, of course. And well, it’s also good for Mary Alice to remember that her mother needs to know what she’s doing.” She flashed a conspiratorial grin that took Ranger by surprise and then added, “And it’s good she remembers that the old folks check with each other. She’s at that age, you know. Testing boundaries, sure she knows everything. Oh my, it takes me back to when I worked in the school system….”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded as Mrs. Kloughn continued, reflecting that Mary Alice’s boundary testing seemed light years away from his sullen teenage slide toward gang membership and stealing cars. But then, he’d never been able to figure out the playbook for girls as they grew up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His sisters, all older than him, had spent their younger years either ignoring him or attempting to clothe him in dresses. Then they’d spent their adolescent years bribing him so he wouldn’t tattle on the make-out scenes he’d interrupted. Beyond that, he’d been stuck one summer in the house with his bossy middle-sister Carlota after what he thought had been a pregnancy or drugs scare in high school. His only other reference for teenage girls was Julie, and she was even more volatile and mysterious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He began to wonder a bit uneasily if Steph was right; that he’d inadvertently volunteered for hazard duty in the car with Mary Alice. Well, he shrugged, he’d once captured and driven a reluctant Pashtun warlord from Quetta in Pakistan all the way to Kabul in Afghanistan. He’d kept him safe and reasonably comfortable even though Ranger had truly loathed the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>How hard could it be to drive Mary Alice to the U-Mass campus in Boston? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He padded from the kitchen, past Mrs. Kloughn who’d started helping Lisa gather her homework, into the living room. Sarah bounded off the sofa, leaving Mary Alice to continue focusing on her soccer video. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Ranger,” Sarah ran up to him, then stopped in a giddy approximation of a martial arts bow. “Ranger </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sensei</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you promised! Show me the Heaven and Earth move.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled at the girl’s wide-eyed look, while Mary Alice said, “Sarah, I said he probably knew how to do it, not that you should go all ‘Karate Kid’ on him.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No that’s quite alright,” Ranger replied, genuinely amused. “So Sarah, you know that the goal of Aikido is to use the attacker’s energy against them, right?” The girl nodded, her mass of Plum curls bobbing in a way that made Ranger smile at its familiarity. “The ‘Heaven and Earth’ converts the attacker’s energy sideways and disorients them. It’s like they were standing up and suddenly find themselves lying down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Sarah said slowly, a very Steph-like look of bemusement in her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Here,” Ranger knelt down, setting aside his backpack and taking her wrists lightly in his hands. “Most attackers are right handed, so start that way. This hand,” he squeezed the one he meant, “goes palm-up toward Heaven and the other is palm-down toward Earth.” He maneuvered her hands where they should go. “Now, Heaven is high, so that hand moves up toward the shoulder like this, and the Earth hand yanks toward the ground.” He gently moved his arms in the needed directions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The trick is, while you’re pushing my arms, step toward me with your Earth foot. Try doing that.” He repositioned their hands in front of him, and then nodded as she took a step forward while separating his arms. “Good,” he nodded in approval. “Now I’m too heavy for you to actually be able to throw. But, you could still put me off balance because I’d be moving toward you and my arms would be stiff trying to hold you. It’s like you’ve turned the handlebars on a bicycle just enough to change its direction while they’re still pedaling.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched as Sarah’s eyes lit up. “Which means that I've turned their attack into my opportunity!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” he nodded again, seeing her quick understanding. He was pleased that Stephanie’s girls were learning self defense. That had been one of his many fights with Rachel, that she hadn’t wanted Julie to learn any martial arts. He’d thought that, at least after Scrog, she’d see the value in it. But instead Rachel had wanted Julie even further away from all things that reminded her of Ranger. He’d made sure his paid guards taught Julie the rudiments when they were away from home, but it had always angered him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger moved his arms back in front and stiffened them slightly as he felt Sarah practice the move again. A brief smile sketched itself on his face as he spoke again, “Now, the final move is to take one more step forward. That’s another push to put the attacker off balance while it moves you out of the way. You’ll have to practice that with the other kids in your class, because it’s easiest to learn with other people your own size. You can use it against someone bigger like me, but until you know how to do it you might tangle in my feet.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that makes sense!” Sarah looked at him as he still kneeled in front of her. “I can’t wait to try that in class.” Her gleaming eyes sobered and she whispered, “Have you ever used that move, like when you’re chasing bad guys here in Boston?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger leaned back on his heels to hide his surprise. “If you study martial arts like Aikido they become instinct so you’re always using them.” Trying to keep his face relaxed and his tone conversational, he asked, “But what did your mom tell you about why I’m here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Earnestly, Sarah replied, “You're chasing bad guys. Mom said that you chase bad guys for a living.” Her head tilted, “And she said that you’re really good at it.” Her hands drifted up to loosely grasp what looked like the end of her necklace under the top of her shirt. Ranger catalogued it as a habitual gesture rather than a protective one.  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded. “Did she say anything about the bad guys I’m chasing?” Ranger asked, carefully keeping the concern out of his voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just that you have to be out at night sometimes to catch them.” She gave him a knowing look, “‘Cause everyone knows that bad guys like to sneak around in the dark.” She glanced away for a moment and then returned her gaze to him. “But maybe bad people just don’t care if it’s light or dark out. Maybe it’s easier to do bad stuff when most people are asleep so they don’t see what’s going on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Bemused, Ranger watched as she nibbled lightly on her lower lip, her observant eyes staring from under her exuberant curls. In the background Ranger could hear Mrs. Kloughn talking with Lisa and Mary Alice commenting on her soccer video. If pressed, he probably could provide the gist of their conversations later. But kneeling on the floor, Ranger was focused on Sarah.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes remained locked on his. “Mom says that you make the world a better place because of you're a good man who's willing to do dangerous work to keep other people safe.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“When did she say that?” Ranger asked quietly.</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“Yesterday. But I’ve heard it before from Mary Alice and Angie. They say you’re really brave. Mary Alice remembers my father saying that you were one of the only people he knew who helped people just because they needed it, whether they were ‘cool’ or not. That you were like Mom that way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was pretty sure that Sarah was referring to Stephanie; he’d heard all the girls call her Mom without hesitation. He watched as Sarah looked down and pulled her necklace out from her shirt. He’d idly noted that it was one of those long beaded metal chains like they used to provide with Army dog tags. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She opened her hand to reveal a Jewish Star of David and a medallion that Ranger recognized as an old-style military saint’s coin. An odd combination, Ranger mused, as Sarah smiled shyly at him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This was my father’s when he was my age,” she held out the star. “It’s called the </span>
  <em>
    <span>magen </span>
  </em>
  <span>David; I just learned that in Hebrew school. Anyhow, I was really little when the car accident happened, so Grandma Kloughn said I should have this so I’d remember my father and that he’s part of me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s a good thought,” Ranger said. “Albert, your father, was a kind man.” Honestly, Ranger didn’t recall Albert Kloughn very clearly anymore. However, seeing Mrs. Kloughn had reminded Ranger of the gentle, childlike man who had married Steph’s sister. He’d stayed with Val even though, privately, Ranger had thought she was shallow and a bit of a shrew. Ranger mentally saluted Albert for special valor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah broke into his thoughts as she held up the saint’s coin for his inspection. “This one belonged to my Great-Grandma Mazur. I don't remember her,” Sarah said earnestly, “but everyone says I look like her. So that’s why Mom said I should have it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She held out the coin further. “You can touch it if you want; it’s supposed to be good luck.” She gestured to Ranger, so he reached out a finger to touch the coin, brushing it lightly. It had been a few years since he’d seen any of these. Sarah smiled at him. “It’s St. Martin. He was Hungarian like my Great-Grandma, but he became a saint for the whole world. He’s a saint of soldiers,” she said reverently. Ranger nodded, letting her pull the coin back toward herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at the coin as though it was a picture in her hands, Sarah added, “It was wrapped in a note that said that my Great-Grandpa Mazur wore it during the war so he’d always remember to be brave like the saint, and to be a good man even when with his enemies.” She looked up at Ranger and asked in a soft voice. “Is that hard to do; to be a good man with your enemies? Do you think that’s why he needed to wear a reminder?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There were several things Ranger could say—and several things he wanted to ask, though he knew Sarah was too young for most of his questions. So he decided to simply answer the worry he saw in her face. “In war, it’s really important to remember what matters to you because you’re away from home and in danger. Your Great-Grandpa chose those values—bravery and goodness—because those were the things that mattered to him. Not because they were difficult, but because they were important.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He watched the worry clear from her face and knew he’d given the right answer out of the many truths he could have spoken. He reached out without thinking and pushed a lock of curly hair from in front of Sarah’s eyes. Pausing, his face blank, he relaxed as Sarah smiled at him and then looked down to tuck her necklace back into her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Kloughn bustled over, reaching out her hand for Sarah while she looked at Ranger. “Excuse me dear. We have to get ready to leave. Of course, on a day like today it would be so nice to stay inside and be warm. But look,” she glanced out the front window, “it’s stopped raining. So it’ll be nice out, after all.” She smiled broadly as Lisa came over, backpack in tow.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shifted position, then gracefully uncurled himself to his full height, hooking his own backpack as he rose. Gazing down at Sarah, he saw Stephanie in her face, but the girl’s forthright hazel eyes were all her own. He was proud of his Babe for nurturing such a perceptive child; a tiny slip of a girl who had no qualms about sharing her thoughts and questions with a man who knew he was intimidating even without trying.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Kloughn nodded as though Ranger had replied, then looked back at Lisa. “Okay girls, let’s get ready to go outside.” With one hand hovering over Lisa’s shoulder and the other gently pulling Sarah in her wake, Mrs. Kloughn maneuvered the two girls over to their coats. As Mary Alice came over to help Sarah with her boots, Lisa looked up at Ranger and then her grandmother. “Can’t Mr. Ranger come with us too?” Lisa asked.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mrs. Kloughn started to reply, but then Mary Alice spoke up. “Hey kiddo, first dibs. He’s driving me over to the campus and saving me from oodles of time being stuffed on a bus seat. But he’ll be back.” Mary Alice looked up at him, then, a speculative look in her eyes. “You will be back later, won’t you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly aware that conversation had stopped while four sets of eyes watched him with varying expressions of curiosity, speculation, and possibly hope, Ranger answered, “Yes, I’ll be back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice smiled and turned back to Sarah, who was still staring at Ranger, her eyes focused and unblinking. Ranger was trying to figure out how to casually ask Sarah if everything was alright. Then Sarah nodded to herself and looked at Mary Alice. “Yeah, he’ll be coming home,” she said, a satisfied smile on her face. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>AN: Some of you will be worried about Mrs. Arshad and whether she is somehow a danger to Stephanie. Fear not; she's just a nice lady with a hard-working and close-knit family. Living in the Jamaica Plain neighborhood ("JP" to the locals), Stephanie lives in a culturally and ethnically diverse community. </span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Driving Miss Mary Alice</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 13: Driving Miss Mary Alice</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger angled from the rotary into Forest Hills Drive, he checked his mirrors for any cars or plates he’d seen before. He’d purposely chosen a route that required several changes of roadway. To be safe he’d already pulled a couple of basic moves to identify tails, such as a last-minute dart through a yellow light and a couple of U-turns. But he honestly didn’t think he’d see any tails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he half-listened to Mary Alice humming “Fly Me to the Moon” in the passenger seat as she dug in her backpack, Ranger mused that evasive driving maneuvers were second nature to him. Like stealth. Like sizing up everyone in a room as soon as he entered it and identifying all the exits including windows and skylights. Like making sure that nobody dangerous tied his car to Steph or her family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger noticed a very Stephanie-like fidgeting in the passenger seat and smiled inwardly. A couple of minutes passed while Ranger counted down, keeping his eyes on the road. In his periphery he saw Mary Alice squirm forward and adjust the air vents on her side, then sit back, and then finally turn sideways toward him under the seatbelt. Should be any minute now….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Mary Alice finally said as Ranger smirked in amusement. “What should I call you?” she asked. Mary Alice glanced down at her hands, then back up at Ranger with a studied, matter-of-fact expression on her face. “I feel like ‘Mister Ranger’ is a total ‘Bullwinkle and Squirrel’ name. But I don’t know any other name for you.” She nibbled briefly on her lip and added, “And well, to be honest, ‘Uncle Ranger’ is even weirder.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled. “Ranger is fine,” he answered. He felt a quick twinge that yet another person was getting to know him by his street name. But, he wasn’t ready to claim a more personal name with Steph’s family. At least not before first offering it to Steph. And he agreed wholeheartedly with Mary Alice: 'Uncle Ranger' was a laughably weird name. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay cool,” Mary Alice answered with a smile as she reached forward and tested the locked glove compartment and then patted around under her seat. “So </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she said his name with a slightly brash emphasis, “Do you have any CDs in here?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger answered, amused at imagining what Mary Alice would select from his musical collection if it were available. But he realized that he still could find out something about what her taste was like. Glad that the bruises on his hands were less visible today, Ranger pointed to the console and offered, “If you have an MP3 player, there's an audio jack.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger didn’t tell Mary Alice that he hadn’t bothered to fix the car radio’s non-working FM band since he wouldn’t have this car for long. And, he certainly didn’t tell her that the AM band worked; mostly it was sports, talk radio, or Spanish pop stations, none of which Ranger wanted to hear for 45 minutes. With sardonic amusement, he also acknowledged that he had a bit of a knee-jerk reaction to having other people changing radio stations in his car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice rustled a bit more in her backpack, then shrugged. “Oh well,” she said, “that’s okay. I don’t have a cable like that in my bag.” Instead, she pulled a pair of earbuds out of her backpack and sat back with her music player in her palm, adjusting the volume and music selection. Glancing at her, Ranger saw a small, almost beatific smile as she leaned back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Although the car wasn’t particularly quiet, Ranger could hear the unmistakable sway of mid-century big band music leaking from her earphones. Ranger guessed that answered his question about Mary Alice’s musical taste, though it didn’t really give him any new insights. He looked beyond her, quickly cataloging the view of the neighborhood through her window, and then resumed looking forward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perplexed as several minutes passed in relative silence, Ranger wondered what game his subconscious had been playing when it volunteered him to chauffeur Mary Alice to her campus. He’d told Stephanie that he didn’t mind driving since it gave him a chance to think, but even she’d known that wasn’t going to happen on this leg of the drive. Steph had guessed it would be due to Mary Alice’s chatter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, Ranger had known that his instinct to protect those in his care would ratchet up his alertness, keeping him from what Steph called his “zone.” He felt it now: it was like pure caffeine racing through his system. He actually welcomed the sensation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What was confusing, though, was the odd sense of... </span>
  <em>
    <span>disappointment </span>
  </em>
  <span>that Mary Alice had gone silent so quickly in the ride. Normally this would be a relief. After all, she seemed happy in her silence unlike—for example—when his daughter Julie had chosen to stop talking with him the few times he’d driven her anywhere. When his daughter had huffed that Ranger always seemed to be interrogating her, not having a normal discussion like a father with his daughter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger wasn’t sure how to address that. After all, he’d rarely been given the luxury of unsupervised conversations with Julie before she'd started college a year ago. That explained some of their mutual discomfort. Ranger was sure that another factor was the contrast with Julie’s stepfather’s parenting style. The times when Ranger had watched Ron with Julie, the man always seemed more like an eager camp counselor than a father. But Ranger knew he had no room to talk: Ranger was probably more like the camp border police.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps he’d be better prepared if he had more involvement with his nieces and nephews. But, to them, Ranger was just the enigmatic Uncle Ricardo who sent them gifts on every holiday, but who they only actually saw every few Christmases. For the last few years he’d been meaning to make more of an effort to make time for family holidays, but somehow he’d always found himself on stakeouts over birthdays, Thanksgiving, Christmas…. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head. It didn’t matter if sometimes he was an asshole. Despite that, he’d managed to have informative conversations with senators, generals, liquor store employees, and people living on the street. For Christ’s sake, how hard could it be to talk with a teenager? The trick was to find common ground. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even if, Ranger grimaced inwardly, that was also one of the first steps in working a witness or going undercover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger observed Mary Alice from the corner of his eye. What was he like at that age, in his senior year in high school? He frowned: he had been a boy trying to be a man. He’d been jolted out of his mundane Jersey slide into petty crime by being sent to live with his no-nonsense Abuela Mañoso in Miami. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still wiry but newly muscular, he’d been all badass, Mariel-boatlift-influenced Cuban, living just outside Little Havana where his name and Cuban pedigree mattered. He had finally been finally big enough and hard enough that it wasn't a problem anymore that he was so goddamn pretty in a macho culture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he had been on the verge of getting his ass handed to him yet again by being sent back to Jersey, but he didn’t know it yet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the bottom line, though, he’d been a kid who liked Star Wars movies, playing fútbal or soccer, listening to music, and hanging out with his friends. He glanced again at Mary Alice and shrugged. Maybe not so different after all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing a break in the muffled music coming from Mary Alice’s earbuds, Ranger prepared to speak. However before he had the chance, Mary Alice looked in his direction. </span>
  <b>“</b>
  <span>So Ranger,” she said with studied casualness. “Do you think seventeen years old is too young to get an eyebrow ring?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger quickly glanced at her out of the corner of her eye, and was sure that he didn’t swerve even a little bit in traffic. He felt his own eyebrow drifting up as though it was retreating from the thought of getting pierced. He pursed his lips in ironic humor, then intoned, “I don’t think I’m qualified to answer that question.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice tapped her music player, stopping the tinny sound of a new song that had started to play. “Mom said you had a daughter about my age. What would you tell her if she asked?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keeping his eyes on the traffic ahead of them, Ranger nodded once. “I’d tell her to ask her mother.” Ranger felt particularly wise for a moment until he realized that, no, Julie wouldn’t ask him in the first place. And if she did, any answer he gave would probably come back to bite him in the ass after his ex-wife Rachel heard about it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ughh. I knew it. All adults band together. It’s like there’s a herding instinct or something. I just don’t see why it’s a big deal.” Mary Alice looked down and started rooting for something in her backpack.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He thought about it for a minute, then remembered what it was like to be seventeen. “I was about your age when I got my ears pierced.” He saw Mary Alice’s head turn toward him, her hands stilled. “I don’t quite remember why, but I think it was to fit in with the guys down in East Little Havana who I thought were cool. I could be a tough </span>
  <em>
    <span>guapo</span>
  </em>
  <span> just like them, wear my two-carat studs and talk ‘street’ even if my family was a bit stuck up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He smirked at the memory, picturing what a hard-on he’d tried to be at that age, despite his aristocratic Abuela Mañoso dragging him to cigar rooms and deportment lessons. “Then, I had to move back to my old neighborhood in Newark, where only sissies wore earrings and I got the crap beat out of me a few times before I decided that earrings weren’t happening.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled softly to himself. “Wore them sometimes in college, especially on dates. But then I couldn’t wear them in the Army; it’s against dress code and they weren’t usually appropriate in the kinds of undercover assignments I got.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you don’t wear earrings anymore?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes I do, though only posts, and not usually while I’m working.” He could sense the question on her face, and shrugged, “I’m already memorable and in my line of business it’s not good to wear anything that’s easily identifiable. Or that could be grabbed and yanked out in a fight; you’d be surprised how much that hurts.” He pulled into the left lane and then stopped at the red light. He looked over at her rapt expression. “The thing is, it’s good to know why you’re doing something that changes your body.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that makes sense. For awhile I thought it would be cool to get a nose ring like Mrs. Arshad, and maybe a tongue stud like this wicked awesome waitress who used to work at Luna Cafe near our house. But after a really nasty head cold last winter I was really glad I didn’t have a nose ring. And, mom made me read about the awful things that could happen with a tongue stud. Yuck.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded and returned attention to driving as the left-turn arrow came on. “Totally agree with you on the tongue studs. Also—trust me—tongue studs are an advertisement for a lifestyle that I don’t think you want.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had a quick image of Raven Blaque flash through his mind. He hadn’t thought of her in years. The first woman he’d spent any time with after his divorce from Rachel, Raven had multicolored hair and a tongue stud along with several other... interesting… piercings that had been entertaining at first. But, the way the tongue stud flattened and simpered her speech had quickly gotten annoying, and he’d never actually wanted to kiss her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even worse: though she’d looked interesting and had new and unusual tastes in the bedroom, she had a pretentious made-up name and had bored him after only a few weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realizing that seventeen-year-old Mary Alice was still looking at him, he immediately tamped down any remaining thoughts of Raven. Though he did consider, fleetingly, that he hadn’t liked kissing any women on the lips since Steph. He hadn’t consciously realized that until now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But what about eyebrow rings,” she probed. “I mean, they look cool and don’t seem too kinky.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger snorted inwardly. This was probably what Steph meant when she’d indicated that Mary Alice was comfortable talking about anything at all. Amused, he considered that Mary Alice had already known that tongue studs had a fetish aspect when she’d mentioned them. So, she was probably testing him. Well, that was something Julie did also, though Julie’s approach was certainly more confrontational and less amusing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Ranger temporized, “I don’t know what’s typical in high school or college these days, in terms of piercings. So I can only comment generically, you understand?” Mary Alice nodded, rapt, so Ranger continued. “I think first impressions are often based on how the other person looks. So, what is the first impression you’re trying to make, and with whom? And, why is that important? Are you trying to fit in or be different? And why? After they get to know you they won’t even notice if your eyebrow is pierced or not.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He glanced over, noting her expression. She was considering what he said. Good; it was worth continuing. As Ranger did a quick sweep of his mirrors for tails, he continued speaking. “The next thing to ask yourself is whether you’re really trying to get a reaction from the people you already know. If so, why is that important?” Seeing Mary Alice starting to fidget in her seat, Ranger paused. With Steph, at least, that had usually that meant she was opening her mind to think about something she would prefer to avoid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a brief moment, Mary Alice spoke up. “Well, okay. But what if I just think it looks cool?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “Fair enough.” he answered. He hadn’t missed her initial question, which was whether seventeen was too young. Which implied that Steph had told her it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ranger was smart enough to not get in the middle of that. So… time to mention his cousin. As was so often the case, Les provided a useful cautionary tale. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine they could look interesting.” he answered blandly. “I remember that my cousin Lester had one of those eyebrow barbells for after he left the Army. He certainly thought it looked good.” Ranger exhaled in a burst of quiet humor. “We’d find him in the bathroom raising that brow in the mirror, or winking at himself like he was practicing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger heard Mary Alice giggle. “Unfortunately,” Ranger continued, “he’d catch it on his shirt when he was undressing in a hurry. It was like a morning ritual in the gym: Lester finished working out, the locker room door closed, and we could count-down to when we’d hear him swearing." Ranger glanced over; she was hooked. He continued in a nonchalant tone, "He finally lost it, though, the time his girlfriend’s hair was tangled and she yanked her head back. I heard later that he practically blacked out from the pain.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger couldn’t help but chuckle, remembering the early morning pandemonium. The elevator door had opened onto the Rangeman residential floor to reveal Les’ girlfriend screaming that Les had cut off a hank of her of hair right before a major photo shoot. Les was using martial arts defense moves to avoid her walloping purse. Meanwhile, Bobby was in the line of fire, getting bashed repeatedly while trying to figure out exactly why Les was gushing blood from his eyebrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re laughing,” Mary Alice said, squinting at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was just remembering my crazy cousin and his girlfriend," Ranger answered. Still smiling as he looked at the upcoming intersection, Ranger continued his story. "Lester gave up wearing the eyebrow bar after the hair-pull incident. Actually, it was half ripped out so he had to remove it.” Seeing no cars starting early from the cross-street, Ranger accelerated through the yellow light and then added, “His eyebrow healed without a visible scar but apparently there was some minor nerve damage. He had to sleep on his other side for awhile to avoid headaches and had a bit of an eyebrow droop and puffiness for months.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is he better now?” Mary Alice asked, her eyes wide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so.” He carefully kept a blank expression on his face while he looked forward at the road. “The headaches he still has behind his eye might be from concussions; it’s hard to say.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catching a glimpse of Mary Alice as he checked out the side mirror beyond her window, Ranger smiled inwardly behind his stoic expression. Her face was a study of uncertainty; if nothing else, he’d gotten her to think. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he saw her reaching for her music player, Ranger took a quick breath and said in his best casual tone, “So Mary Alice, Steph said that you really like playing soccer, but also have an interest in the music industry.” Inwardly, Ranger grimaced; if Julie were here she’d scoff at how stiff he suddenly sounded. Like an out-of-touch adult trying to start a conversation with an uninterested teenager. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He snorted inwardly; wonder where Julie would get that idea?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Mary Alice didn’t seem to notice his awkwardness. “Yeah, I like soccer,” she nodded, finally pulling out her earbuds. “It’s a lot of fun and I'd probably still play it, even if it weren't my ticket to college.” She smiled ruefully, “I know Mom’s still kinda wigged out that there are athletic Plums in the world. But Angie was actually really good at softball, she just hated that it chipped her nails,” Mary Alice concluded with a smirk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Does Angie still play softball?” Ranger asked as he reflexively scanned the car’s mirrors for tails. Since he was on a section of roadway headed vaguely north rather that east, the sun wasn’t angled directly in the rear window so he could easily read nearby plates. Still nothing suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nah. Angie has an academic scholarship so was able to give up the pretext that she likes sports.” As Mary Alice started rolling her earbud cable on her first two fingers she snickered, “This semester Angie’s actually taking ballroom dance as her athletic class. In shorthand, that means she gets course credits for going to college mixers with guys from MIT, which cracks me up. She loves it, though." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lip lifting in amusement as he saw Mary Alice shake her head. "Anyhow,” she continued, “Angie wants to go into Finance or Accounting so hanging out with MIT math guys is even better than going to the mall. And can I just say,” Mary Alice asked with dramatic humor, “that Angie’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally </span>
  </em>
  <span>grateful that I made her watch Dr. Who, Star Wars and Star Trek ’cause it gives her good opening lines?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a mischievous smile, she added, “The guy she’s crushing-on now thinks she’s totally sexy-boots because she still has the Jedi Master keychain I gave her a few years ago. And last time she visited I let her borrow my original-series Star Trek phaser because I just </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>that’s going to get her some action.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sensed Mary Alice staring at him. Realizing that he wasn’t prepared to dive into a discussion of college dating and make-out habits shortly after dodging the ‘piercing’ controversy, Ranger decided to nudge the conversation away from the brink. “So,” he asked, “your scholarship is athletic?” As he said the words, Ranger had an unbidden flashback to his high school counselor, Miss Root, trying to convince him to apply for a partial sports scholarship at University of Miami. Unfortunately the fact that the school was just a commuter bus ride away from his overbearing abuela’s house wasn't the selling point that Miss Root had imagined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice replied to his question, “Yeah. But having an athletic scholarship is fine with me ’cause that means I can study whatever I want. Besides, I actually like playing soccer and I’m used to balancing practice time with homework. I won’t have all the college distractions, anyway, since U-Mass Boston is a commuter campus so I’ll be living at home. At least the first year or two.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that okay with you?” Ranger asked. Thinking of Miss Root had reminded him that the chance to live in the dorms away from family had been one of the main draws to taking the full State Department language scholarship at Rutgers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Mary Alice nodded, brushing a lock of hair away from her face. “I mean, this is going to sound stupid but I don’t really want to leave home right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded back, momentarily distracted by a large black car entering the intersection ahead of him. He relaxed when he saw the elderly woman driving it and the unfamiliar license plate. It wasn’t a repeat; still no tails.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realized that Mary Alice had gone quiet. He glanced over at her. Mary Alice was looking down at her hands clasped in her lap, her shoulders hunched in thought. He let the silence stretch; he knew this body language</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally she turned toward him again and continued, her voice quieter than before. “It was hard after Angie left for school. It sounds dumb, but I had always imagined we’d stay together. The Fearless Five, or something.” She paused again. “I know Lisa especially misses Angie. And Mom does, though she uses her ‘I’m completely okay’ overcompensation thing to act like Angie being away doesn’t bother her. Even so, I still hear her saying goodnight to Angie’s picture every night before she goes to bed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice shrugged, “And I miss Angie too, even though I </span>
  <em>
    <span>so </span>
  </em>
  <span>don’t miss the Big Bossy Sister act.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded as he slowed for a yellow light, and then turned right. He’d keep turning right at intersections until he returned to the main road. Any cars that seemed to have followed at that point would need more urgent action. A standard approach to shaking off fleas in traffic, it was surprising how often the technique worked even with experienced tails. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he checked his mirrors to catalog cars that turned after he did, Ranger mulled Mary Alice’s words. He knew exactly what Mary Alice meant about Steph having an “I’m completely okay” overcompensation act. He’d seen it himself. The first time was when he’d run into her over-cheery Jersey girl facade in Plum Bonds after she’d killed Jimmy Alpha in her apartment. And he’d seen it in full force when Steph had insisted on returning to her sister’s wedding shower after nearly being gang raped and worse by the Junkman and his Slayers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, yes, when he’d found her baking cookies in her apartment after Abruzzi had left Steven Soder dead and bisected on her couch. He grimaced internally, feeling his hand grip the steering wheel, knowing that his impulses that evening had been completely fucked up. The night he’d first slept with Steph. Ranger could try to justify his actions by claiming, truthfully, that it always turned him on to see Steph overcoming her fears with her personal brand of defiance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But there was no way around it: he’d practically strong-armed Steph into cashing in a carnal debt in her bedroom. A debt spawned from a roguish wager that, unexpectedly, Steph had taken seriously. A wager that one of his more hard-bitten colleagues like Jean Ellen would’ve thrown back in his face. But not his Babe—she’d played along, which had hopelessly snared Ranger in the process. Oh, he’d done his best to give her a night to remember. He knew that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he </span>
  </em>
  <span>still remembered practically every moment of it. But ignoring his motives—telling himself he was just distracting her and meanwhile totally getting his rocks off—that hadn’t been his finest moment. Not by a goddamn long shot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something he’d realized by the next morning, at which point he’d scrambled to reset her feelings—and his—back to status quo by saying she should go back to her boyfriend. To Morelli. That had been one of his more notable relationship fuckup moments. In a poetic case of karma being a total bitch, Ranger had never known what Steph’s true feelings toward him had been after that morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, as Ranger inspected the next intersection, he realized the more relevant point at this moment wasn’t that he was sometimes a selfish bastard when it came to women. It was that Mary Alice knew about Steph’s reflexive “I’m completely okay” reaction. That meant Mary Alice had seen it more than once. Ranger gripped the steering wheel again, feeling the plastic give slightly under his fingers, and vowed again to stay in contact with Steph. If his impulse was to protect, hers was to help others without requesting assistance for herself. Time for Ranger to man-up and figure out how to offer </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> the help she needed but wouldn’t request. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, oblivious to Ranger’s internal recriminations, Mary Alice smiled. “Mom said she’s actually going to try rope you in for a ‘Despicable Me’ movie night,” she chuckled briefly. Then her expression sobered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled by Mary Alice’s change in direction—and annoyed that he must have once again missed something—Ranger asked, “Don’t you like that movie?” He’d long-ago learned that pursuing people’s non-sequiturs could be the best way to learn what they were truly thinking. Stephanie had been a perfect case study.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s funny,” Mary Alice replied. “And thank heavens it’s not ‘Princess Bride’ since that was Lisa’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>previous </span>
  </em>
  <span>favorite movie. Jeez, if I have to watch Buttercup and Westley make moon eyes and kiss one more time I might barf.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t blame you there,” Ranger nodded, remembering how excruciating it had been to sit through that movie after his eldest sister Carmen had recorded it from TV. The first time his sisters had roped him into watching it, he’d fantasized about leaping for the remote control to fast forward to the swordfight scenes. By the second involuntary viewing he desperately imagined himself in the swordfights, slashing masterfully at anyone in the scene. It was mildly disturbing to him that he remembered the character “Inigo the Swordsman” so many years later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Again he realized that Mary Alice had continued talking. “But Ranger, here’s the thing about the ‘Despicable’ movies. Lisa and Sarah like the Minion characters because they’re really silly and fun. They even dressed as them for Halloween. And, they really are hilarious. But, I'm old enough to know that we're not the Minions; we’re the orphan girls." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had no idea what she was talking about, though he understood the gist. And he knew from countless discussions with informants that she was trying to tell him something important. So Ranger just nodded for her to continue as he took the next right turn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice shrugged. “I remember when the car accident happened. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know </span>
  </em>
  <span>we have the life we do and that we’re a </span>
  <em>
    <span>family </span>
  </em>
  <span>because of Mom. She was still Aunt Steph then, but she stepped in and made sure of it. Even before we found out that Steph was named as our guardian she moved into our house to take care of us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice reached up and pushed a stray lock of wavy hair back over her ear. “We don't always get along. But if it weren’t for Mom, who knows if the four of us would even still be together. I mean, the Kloughns would always have taken Sarah and Lisa, but didn’t have to take me and Angie. And Grandpa Plum wasn’t in good shape back then, so it wouldn’t have been good if we’d landed with him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice shrugged again, remaining hunched as she continued speaking. “I'd kinda forgotten all that. Anyway, when Angie left for school… well, it was just difficult. It made me realize that I don’t want to live on my own yet, without the rest of our family. Or without Mrs. Arshad and Uncle Darius and… jeez, the people from the BPD summer picnic and everyone else.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand,” Ranger answered in a quiet voice. He suddenly remembered comforting an injured girl in a fight zone years ago while waiting for Red Crescent to arrive. He’d repeated “</span>
  <em>
    <span>ana afham”</span>
  </em>
  <span>—I understand—and held her hand while the girl had related challenges of her everyday life. As they’d finally loaded her for the ride to the clinic, the girl hadn’t wanted to release his hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the time he’d just been saying words to calm an injured non-combatant, but now he truly did understand: she’d just needed to know someone was listening. So, here in a car with Mary Alice, he nodded gently, said he understood, and made sure his expression was calm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice was silent for awhile as she picked lint from her coat. Then she straightened her shoulders and glanced back in Ranger's direction. Her mouth perked in a small, self conscious grin as she said, “Probably more than you were asking. And probably Mom will start leaving apartment-for-rent ads around the house at some point. But right now I’m fine commuting from home."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sensing that Mary Alice wanted to steer away from the topic, Ranger asked, “So, what’s your major?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Communications,” Mary Alice answered promptly. Her enthusiasm restored, she answered, “It’s a new program, but it sounds really cool. A lot of new media, plus how to communicate messages in different ways, like cross culturally. Some of it sounds bogus, like corporate PR, but other parts are cool. Like how to give different groups a voice within communities.” </span>
</p>
<p><span>Ranger nodded; it sounded a lot like what Steph did.</span> <span>He wondered briefly if Mary Alice was truly like Stephanie, or merely impressionable. Seeing a well-traveled cross street, Ranger took the next right turn.</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“So, you’re not studying music?” Ranger asked, genuinely curious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I don’t want to be a musician or a music teacher. And honestly, after you learn about scales, harmony, and rhythm, music theory is more boring than watching an ant farm all day.” Mary Alice reached up to play with another lock of hair that had fallen in her face, then continued, “I want to be a recording engineer. But nobody majors in that unless you have like a million dollars to go to Emerson or live away from home at U. Michigan or even University of Hartford.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing briefly in her direction, Ranger saw that Mary Alice had captured the lock of hair and was rolling its end around her finger. He asked, “Wouldn’t it be worth it though? If that’s what you want to do?”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“You mean like if all things were equal and let’s-pretend I could afford Emerson and get in?” At Ranger’s nod, she continued, “Well, I’m not sure. I kinda think a degree in recording engineering is more for people who want to grow up and </span><em><span>do</span></em> <em><span>important things</span></em><span> like score music for </span><em><span>major motion pictures</span></em><span>,” Mary Alice intoned in a fake announcer voice. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“But that’s not me,” she continued, “I just want to work with music. I talked to someone who used to work at Rounder Records and she said that it's not an industry where people really look for the degree. Weirdly, it can hold you back because people think you’re going to go all snobby on them. After all, it's not like Dr. Dre or Young Guru Have Ph.D.s in sampling and mixing. So, I'll just keep getting summer internships at radio stations and, when I'm old enough, I'll try to get a gig helping a DJ at a club.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes tracked the traffic and cataloged the current set of cars and pedestrians while he considered what Mary Alice said. He agreed that most people found the jobs that suited them regardless of the degree. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, Steph had a degree in business but worked in community relations. Ranger’s father had a degree in electrical engineering but spent his adult life managing a chain of high-end car repair and restoration shops, and had enjoyed every minute of it. Tank had a degree in history but directed a corporate security division last time Ranger had checked. And Ranger… well he’d finally gotten his bachelor’s degree in criminal justice while running Rangeman, after it turned out that having a CEO without a college degree blocked some types of lucrative contracts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” he said in response to both Mary Alice and his own thoughts. “What matters is that you apply yourself and learn while you have the opportunity. It helps to study something you like.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly!" Mary Alice beamed. "And I do have some electives. There are a couple of cool music courses I might take, and when the soccer season winds down I might be able to volunteer at the college radio station. They have a couple of weekend programs I always listen to, anyway."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What type of music do you like?” Ranger asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, almost any popular music from the time they started recording it. I'm not as much into classical, though, and some modern jazz is too far out there for me."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “Steph... I mean your mom says you're on a Sinatra kick,” Ranger said, remembering back to Steph's comments on Sunday morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I really like Sinatra's voice and he had great songs," Mary Alice enthused. "And he had the big-deal musicians of his day just playing backup for him. Like Prince playing backup for Cee Lo." In a conspiratorial tone, she added, "I saw that on YouTube. It was beyond cool. And I totally want to know where Cee Lo buys his suits. He's like a well-tailored refrigerator whose voice sounds like caramel ice cream."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh as signaled to merge lanes. Meanwhile, Mary Alice hadn't stopped talking. "But Sinatra, he was totally the ‘dude’ in his day. When he sings about love or sadness, the tone in his voice makes me really believe it. And then, some of his songs are really funny and the lyrics rhyme in neat ways. Like the one I can’t get out of my head today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She started singing in a natural, soft voice, “Fly me to the moon and let me play among the stars, let me see what spring is like on Jupiter or Mars.” She grinned at Ranger. “That’s awesome. Or there’s the ‘Witchcraft’ song that I love because of the fun three-rhymes-in-row throughout the song, which just is so </span>
  <em>
    <span>perfect</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She started to sing again, playfully snapping her fingers on the rhymed words, “It's such an ancient </span>
  <em>
    <span>pitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but one I wouldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>switch, </span>
  </em>
  <span>'cause there's no nicer </span>
  <em>
    <span>witch </span>
  </em>
  <span>than you.” She smiled broadly. “I mean, how could anyone resist?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Indeed," Ranger answered, his eyebrow and lip both raised in amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice giggled. “Okay, I know Sinatra’s old fashioned. I mean, Grandpa Plum likes Sinatra ’cause it’s the music he heard when he was growing up." She snorted, adding, "And you know that's kinda funny because now I’m trying to imagine kids thinking that Eminem and Rihanna are old fuddy-duddy singers for my generation when we’re grandmas and grandpas.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled in a quick huff of humor as Mary Alice—unstoppable as his Babe at her finest—continued her monologue. “My Grandpa Plum also explained to me how Sinatra was a big deal ’cause he was one of the first Italian mega-stars. Like Joe DiMaggio, I think. And Sinatra dressed nice and hung out with cool people. So all the Italians who’d felt like they were second-class citizens had someone to be proud of.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shrugged and added earnestly, “I don’t actually know what that’s like, personally, but I can tell it’s a big deal to Grandpa Plum. After all, </span>
  <em>
    <span>his </span>
  </em>
  <span>grandparents were all born in the old country and he probably lived through some of that.” She shrugged again. “And, since I’m half Italian on both sides, it’s part of who I am, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Makes sense,” Ranger replied after a moment, sensing Mary Alice’s inquisitive gaze. “It’s good to understand why things are the way they are, even if you didn’t live through everything that led to it,” he continued thoughtfully. It was such a simple thing to say, he shrugged inwardly, but Ranger knew firsthand that </span>
  <em>
    <span>understanding</span>
  </em>
  <span> could take a lifetime. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He saw Mary Alice tilt her head. “How about you?” She asked. “I remember hearing that you’re Cuban. That must be a big deal, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his face go blank. Speaking of understanding… here was a topic that </span>
  <em>
    <span>could </span>
  </em>
  <span>take a lifetime. But a car ride with Mary Alice didn’t have to be a confessional. Or a chat with a shrink. So Ranger took a breath and said, “Well, being Cuban is basic to who I am. I grew up inside that culture—a fair number of Cubans expect to return to live in Cuba someday so it’s a bit like growing up in Cuba while still being here in the States.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lip pulled up in an ironic smile. That was certainly true of his Mañoso family in Miami. Even after decades in the U.S. his abuela and her friends had often seemed to be living in </span>
  <em>
    <span>la Cuba vieja</span>
  </em>
  <span>—the old Cuba from the 1940s. Ranger thought that, in their minds, Cuba would be magically restored to that reality after the island was inevitably freed from the dictators. The exiled families would return to control, owning their banana and sugar plantations and herds of cattle, and everyone would be in the right places again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Too bad there wasn’t a “right” place for someone like Ranger in that jewel-toned dream world. Ranger shrugged that thought away. It hardly mattered if he didn’t fit into a world that existed only in dreams and memories. Even if he still sometimes dreamt in </span>
  <em>
    <span>el español habanero</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was the language of his grandparents. Even though </span>
  <em>
    <span>el son cubano</span>
  </em>
  <span>—with its leisurely </span>
  <em>
    <span>tres</span>
  </em>
  <span> guitars, syncopated bass, and the rhythmic heartbeat of wooden </span>
  <em>
    <span>claves</span>
  </em>
  <span>—was the rhythm of his hips when he made love.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, collecting his thoughts. Realizing that he’d left it sounding like he was exclusively Cuban—like a goddamn exotic from a romance novel—Ranger hastened to add, “But I’m American. My parents were born here. I grew up in Trenton listening to Van Halen and Bruce Springsteen along with Celia Cruz. I served in the U.S. Army.” He shrugged. “So I’m Latino. And American.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her head tilted, Mary Alice asked, “Does that make it confusing?” She paused. “I mean, it’s like you have to be two different people. Maybe even more than two, ’cause you’re Cuban, and Latino, and American, and Cuban-American. All at the same time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger half-turned toward Mary Alice with a calculating gaze. She was uncomfortably clever, like Steph. Because that was the crux of his life’s experience: many selves inside one skin, always adapting to fit where he didn’t quite belong. He’d learned to lurk behind other people’s perceptions and slip from one persona to another with a surface show of confidence and strength—physical and mental. He’d gotten damned good at it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly it was a survival skill for a small boy who was dangerously pretty; who was a skinny straight-haired Latino in a largely African-American grade school; who was Cuban living in a Puerto Rican and Dominican neighborhood —but who never looked Cuban in the way the Mañoso family expected. It had taken Ranger several years and a lot of peeling back of painful memories to unravel that confusion and finally come to peace with who he was under it all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, even if Mary Alice suspected any of that, it wasn’t a topic that Ranger planned to open any further with her. “I imagine,” he said instead, “it’s similar for most Latinos. Probably for most recent immigrant groups. We grow up in a couple of worlds. Eventually it becomes part of the family background, like being Italian.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like being Hungarian, as Sarah had reminded him earlier. Glancing over, Ranger saw Mary Alice still looking at him, a speculative look in her brown-flecked blue eyes. Ranger knew he wasn’t playing fair, but he was curious and it was time to distract the perceptive girl in his passenger seat. So he returned his gaze to the road and casually said, “Sarah reminded me that you’re also part Hungarian. But Steph hasn’t mentioned anything about her Grandma Mazur.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He could sense Mary Alice twisting the end of her hair again. “Yeah you're right,” she answered. “Mom doesn't talk about that.” Mary Alice shifted in her seat and then leaned back. “Grandma Mazur died almost exactly a month before my mother and Albert. I know it was especially hard for Auntie Steph—that’s who she was back then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I imagine,” Ranger said, carefully neutral while he imagined Steph reeling at her grandma’s loss. He was glad that, at least, she’d had her whole family around her then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice sighed, ”Nobody would let us kids go to Grandma Mazur’s viewing because they thought it would be a disaster. Old people rioting in the aisles, tossing their canes and walkers. But I remember Albert saying that the place was packed and that almost everyone was respectful because they couldn’t believe someone like her could actually be gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. He also had a hard time believing that the old woman was truly dead. She’d been an absurd, bawdy woman whose spirit was too large to fit into the conventional life she’d been given. Not that he missed having her grope his ass with her insistent bony fingers, to be honest. But still, even in the crazy standards of Steph’s ’Burg neighborhood, Grandma Mazur had stood out.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice fidgeted slightly in her seat. “I remember the funeral. It was a beautiful day. Grandpa Plum drove us in Uncle Sandor’s Buick because Grandma Mazur would’ve liked it. Then back at our house people told stories and it was like Grandma Mazur was back with us for awhile. Most of the adults were drinking whiskey and schnapps, so that was like she was with us, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chanced a glance toward Mary Alice, and saw a brief smile on her face as she remembered. She nibbled her lip briefly, then peeked at Ranger from the corner of her eyes. “I overheard Mom saying that Grandma Mazur died the way she would have wanted: in bed with Mr. Filippetto.” She shrugged. “I wasn’t supposed to hear that part.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that point, Mary Alice turned her shoulders and caught Ranger’s gaze before he had a chance to look away. “Ranger. I wish you had been there then; Mom really missed you. I remember people asking where you were after Grandma Mazur’s funeral. And Uncle Joe was angry that you weren't there after Grandma Plum passed. But it was because everyone thought you should have been with us. With her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt himself blink, then smoothed his expression as he made himself focus forward into traffic. People had expected him to be with Steph? Joe had been angry that he wasn’t. What the hell? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sensing Mary Alice still gazing at him, Ranger answered in a matter-of-fact tone, "I was away on an undercover job for the government.” More quietly he added, "I would've been there if I'd known." Even as he said the words, he realized that it sounded like a memorized excuse. But, dammit, it was true.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice looked up and squinted slightly as Ranger turned left onto Morrissey Boulevard, the weak late-afternoon sun now coming through the driver’s window. “I know, that’s what Mom said too. She told us that the big guy who worked with you said it was a classified mission, so she didn’t know where you were. And you wouldn’t know what was happening back home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While scanning the surrounding berms and roadways, Ranger considered that Tank had been given enough latitude that he could have told Steph the general outline of Ranger’s year-long mission but, like Ranger himself, apparently Tank hadn’t done that. In that moment it also clicked, though, that Tank had perhaps known more about Steph’s situation than he’d relayed to Ranger when he’d returned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes narrowed, but Mary Alice clearly didn’t notice as she continued speaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow Ranger,” she said with a bounce in her seat, “It’s like Mom said: it took you awhile to come home but what matters is that you’re back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I live out-of-state,” Ranger cautioned.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, but Ranger you could spend more time with us.” Apparently seeing the cautious expression on Ranger’s face, Mary Alice quickly added, “You don’t have to stay in our house. There are always apartments opening up. Oh, and you know what? Uncle Darius has an efficiency apartment that he’s not renting right now, you could stay there,” she said hopefully.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pursed his lips in amusement. “I think that’s a discussion I’d need to have with Steph, first.” He did a rapid sweep of the mirrors, scanning traffic, figuring with some smugness that he’d effectively closed down that line of conversation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he’d forgotten he was speaking to a member of the Plum family. “That’s cool, Ranger,” Mary Alice chirped. “But, you’re our friend.” Ranger looked over, noting that Mary Alice was looking out her side window, blocking her face from his view, “I mean, Mom knows so many people but she doesn’t have that many really close friends here in Boston. Especially since Brian moved away. I mean, we liked Brian and he brought over really good movies, but we like you a lot better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger wondered silently </span>
  <em>
    <span>who the hell is Brian?</span>
  </em>
  <span> Mary Alice continued with a lilt in her voice, “Though I guess Mom does have Uncle Darius to talk with.” At that, Mary Alice craned her neck as though she was actively scouting out something from the window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment Ranger knew he was being played. “Anything I should know about?” Ranger drawled, his eyebrow raised. As Mary Alice glanced quickly back at him, he added dryly, “Out that window, for example?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No nothing,” she answered promptly, a mischievous look on her face. “Nothing you don’t already know about.” She smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, knowing that amusement showed in his eyes to those who could read his expressions. He was guessing that Mary Alice was developing that talent, since it seemed damnably rife in her family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Ranger,” Mary Alice piped up, the brown flecks in her blue eyes more pronounced in the angle of the waning afternoon light. “I have a really random question.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Ranger answered slowly, after a moment’s pause to wonder what could be more random than the conversation thus far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were in the Army and everything. What do you know about the Gulf of Tonkin incident from the Vietnam War? I’m writing a paper about it and I can’t figure out what the books are saying. It was like this really important event that triggered the Vietnam War, but then some books say it was a manufactured crisis. I’d ask Grandpa Plum but I steer clear of the Vietnam War with him. I mean, he’s much better now after finally getting therapy and everything but I still worry about triggering his PTSD.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Frank had PTSD?” Ranger asked, though as soon as he said the words it all made sense. Actually, that explained a lot about what he remembered about Steph’s parents and their obsession with routine and conformity. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it got obvious after Grandma Plum died. I think it was one of the reasons I that Mom decided we should move here to Boston, because Grandma Kloughn knew a really good therapist. Also, well, after Grandpa Plum threatened to shoot that guy back in Trenton, Mom decided she had to get him someplace different.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Wait, what?  </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes cut to Mary Alice. In a careful casual tone he asked, “Frank was going to shoot someone?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um, yeah, but I’m not supposed to know about that, or that Mom stole his gun so he couldn’t do it” Mary Alice said quickly, a look of dismay on her face. “So please don’t mention that to Mom. Really, Grandpa’s all better now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, wondering what else Stephanie hadn’t told him. She and her family were more resilient than most people he’d met, but there were traumas that lasted. That came back to haunt if they weren’t exorcised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keeping his voice neutral he said, “I do know about the Gulf of Tonkin incident. I think we have a few minutes before we get to the campus, so ask me whatever you want to know. And we can talk about it tomorrow, or the next time we’re both at home.” With true feeling, he added in a quieter tone, “And, Mary Alice. If you ever want to talk about PTSD, just ask. I’ll give you my phone number so you can call me if I’m not in Boston.” Sensing her squirm, he reached over and briefly enveloped her hand. “I mean it. That’s a real offer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Ranger,” she answered shyly as he returned his hand to the steering wheel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the remaining moments of the drive, Ranger did his best Military History 101 summary of the Gulf of Tonkin incident and its different interpretations. As he outlined how specific events were either unknown or hidden at the time, so that the incident became a justification for U.S. escalation against North Vietnam, he felt a beat of uneasiness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered, though didn’t share with Mary Alice, the interpretation that the incident might have been a covert operation designed to justify U.S. intervention. He didn’t personally subscribe to that theory, but he found his mind cataloging other events that he knew had been manufactured to get military or government action. As he pulled the car into the rounded drop-off driveway, Ranger pushed the thought away for future consideration. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at Mary Alice he simply said, “If you have a draft of your paper while I’m still here in Boston, I’ll be happy to read it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, thanks Ranger. I think you may have saved my paper from the dreaded ‘C plus’ grade that means ‘congratulations this was written in English and made basic sense, but sorry you missed the point.’ I really appreciate it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice unbuckled her seat belt but didn't move. “So... Ranger?” she finally asked as she turned in her seat, looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes?” he answered, preparing himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I meant it before. It’s really nice that you’re here. I can tell it makes Mom really happy. And,” she looked down at her hands, “It would be really neat if you were here more.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Ranger had a chance to respond, she looked up and reached out her hand. As she rested it on the back of his forearm, she blurted, “Oh also," she inhaled, "in addition to not telling Mom that I know about Grandpa Plum wanting to shoot someone back in Trenton, could you do me a favor and not tell Mom what I said about why I want to commute from home next year?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why?” Ranger asked. That revelation hadn’t seemed nearly on a par with Frank’s near brush with voluntary manslaughter. Further, though he’d kept secrets from Steph before—plenty of them in fact—he didn't want to start keeping secrets about her own family unless he knew it wouldn't hurt her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, she probably already knows why, but I don't want her to worry, you know?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would she worry?” Ranger asked, genuinely puzzled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think that the normal thing is for kids to move out when they go to college. If I want to stay at home instead… well, maybe it means there’s something wrong with me." Mary Alice looked down, briefly nibbling her lower lip. She swallowed, then looked up. "There isn’t—anything wrong, that is—but I know she worries that all of us are somehow broken from all that’s happened. And I know she especially worries about me." Her hand tightened on his arm and she pulled her eyes up to look at him. "So Ranger, will you promise? So she doesn’t have to worry.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked at Mary Alice's earnest shining eyes, touched by her concern for Steph and knowing he owed her honesty in return for her confidences. He started, “I can't exactly promise that because I don't want to keep secrets from your mom.” As her face started to fall he quickly added, “But I </span>
  <em>
    <span>can</span>
  </em>
  <span> promise that I won't bring it up, and if she mentions concern about you staying at home I won't divulge anything that you said in confidence.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thank you," Mary Alice looked down again and pulled her hands both back into her lap. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked at her for a moment and then reached out to lightly pull her chin so she was looking at him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey," he said quietly, looking into her eyes. "I remember you from Trenton. And I can see how much you've grown up." Mary Alice nibbled her lip again, and he thought with the twitch of a smile that it was exactly how his Babe worried hers in the rare moments of doubt she'd shared with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger kept eye contact with Mary Alice as he released her chin. "You've come a long way since then. I know your mom is really proud of you and trusts you. I can see it in her eyes when she looks at you, and hear it in how she talks about you." Mary Alice blinked and he tilted his head, considering his next words. Then he continued, "I'm impressed, too. Not everyone knows themselves as well as you do at your age. I know that I didn't." As she stared at him, he nodded slowly and said, "It makes me want to see what you'll do next."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” Mary Alice answered, her eyes wide. To Ranger’s astonishment Mary Alice then scooted over and hugged him, her head landing on his shoulder. After a beat he reached out his hand to pat her on the back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks again,” she pulled away, making a show of slowly rearranging her coat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“For what it’s worth,” Ranger said quietly as Mary Alice reached down for her backpack, “I understand why you’d want to live at home. There’s nothing broken about liking your family and wanting to spend more time with them. And, they’re good people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice looked at him again and smiled shyly. "Your daughter's really lucky to have you as her father. I wish I could meet her." She paused for a moment, then added breathlessly, "Will you bring her to visit us at Thanksgiving? You're coming to dinner with us then, right? You just have to!"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reflected that Julie didn’t seem to feel that she was particularly lucky in the father that fate had dealt her. However, Ranger smirked briefly, Julie </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been angling to visit him during her school’s Thanksgiving vacation rather than going home to Miami. He’d been putting that off since Ranger’s paying for Julie’s choice of college and holidays in far-away New York was yet another bone of contention between himself and his ex-wife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, a holiday with Steph and her family wasn’t a particularly bad idea….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Depends on my case,” Ranger temporized, hoping to deflect Mary Alice’s expectations. His case and upcoming court hearing truly were complications. However, perhaps he could come by, bring some wine and his high school soccer tapes… and watch as Steph’s rambunctious family swarmed his own stubborn daughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his lip twitching into a smile. Perhaps he could see his Babe’s baton-twirling ‘greatest hits’ at the same time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Admit it Ranger: it’s a good idea,” Mary Alice cajoled. “And,” she added in a suspiciously innocent tone, “Uncle Darius will be away visiting family so you’d get more undivided time with us.” Her smile widened into a grin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smirked inwardly as Mary Alice pulled her backpack to her lap. As she rearranged its contents, Ranger heard her absently humming “Witchcraft,” one of the Sinatra songs she’d mentioned earlier. She continued humming as she exited his car in a flurry. Then, before closing the door, Mary Alice briefly leaned back in. “Oh yeah Ranger, thanks for the ride,” she laughed, and the Chevy’s dented door creaked and banged shut. Ranger watched as she walked to the building entrance and waved goodbye before stepping inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He discovered he was chuckling as he pulled out of the driveway. Even more distracting, he realized that he now had Mary Alice’s “Witchcraft” song running through his mind. Of course he knew the lyrics, which were circling in his brain. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When you arouse the need in me, my heart says yes indeed in me, proceed with what you’re leading me to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He sighed. All he could think of was how Stephanie had looked at him over the dinner table on Saturday night. How she’d touched his arm. How he’d held her hand. Crap, he was totally screwed. For once in his life, though, he wasn’t sure that was a problem. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned the steering wheel toward the multi-story parking garage he’d spotted in the distance. Though he’d only have this car for about a day longer, it was time to change plates in case he’d been spotted along the way. Given that fact, Ranger figured he might as well use the opportunity for a bit of misdirection. Ranger spared a moment of sympathy for people in law enforcement, knowing how easy some of these things were to someone with patience and connections.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he pulled into the garage Ranger got a ping on the second burner phone he’d purchased at the 7-11 yesterday. It was coded, from a former instructor at Fort Benning who Ranger had contacted this morning. Translated quickly, the message confirmed that his FBI contact Tino Clark had disappeared, possibly into protective cover. Ranger mused ironically that there was actually a specific code that covered that situation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a bit more deciphering, Ranger learned that one of his peripheral targets, Burc Aburek, had apparently been cleared off the shared domestic intelligence list of foreign explosives experts with no reason given. In Ranger’s experience, removal with no reason was unprecedented. Ranger nodded as he pulled out his tools and a small bag of electronics. There was definitely something going on. Something orchestrated. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something to consider while he watched this morning’s liquor store security tapes, and during tonight’s long stakeout at the pub. He sent a coded message back to his informant with a couple of other angles to check out, glad to know that some of his long-term contacts were still with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding to himself, Ranger got out of the car, replacement license plates and electronics in hand. He thought the Washington DC plates and the set of miniaturized wireless cameras might be just the right touch for tonight.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Getting into It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 14: Getting Into It</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger’s low voice quietly crested over the low rattle of the Subaru’s balky heater, “why is your car’s clock an hour and ten minutes off?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie glanced sideways as she slowed for a traffic light, seeing a faint line between Ranger’s brows. It was the look she remembered from the numerous times when she’d explained the generationally-ingrained logic of the ‘Burg to him. Like how it was totally obvious that Carol Zabo would think it was necessary to jump off a bridge rather than go to jail for shoplifting. Or how it was important to always wear stylish but not-too-sexy underwear in case you were in a car accident and your mother’s friends at the hospital had to undress you. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had always amused Stephanie that Ranger—a man whose knowledge of the world was diverse and detailed, and who was able to seemingly handle any situation with aplomb—was sometimes baffled by the patently obvious. Stephanie smirked: it was “Ranger down the rabbit hole” again. Only this time, Stephanie mused smugly to herself, the explanation made perfect sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, my car clocks have always been this way, even back in Trenton,” Stephanie answered as she reached for her commuter mug of coffee from the center console. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, how often did I ride in your cars in Trenton?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good point,” she nodded at the reasonableness of his objection. After all, why would Ranger have spent any time in one of her clunkers? As far as she'd been able to figure out, Ranger had owned an entire fleet of high-end, butt-kicking vehicles.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he always drove. Stephanie put her coffee back down and caught another glance at Ranger. She almost chuckled out-loud at how incongruous it was to see him in the passenger seat of a car. It was like watching a lion trying to casually pretend it belonged in a lawn chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she watched, Ranger flexed his hands, lightly stretching the extra-large bandage across his left knuckles. It was a casual movement, yet controlled as though he was readying himself for action. Stephanie suddenly pictured some Bourne-Identity mid-traffic seat swap, after which Ranger would take the wheel and swerve out of the morning commute. Probably he’d drive onto the sidewalk to evade traffic, or perhaps he’d accelerate up-and-down some of the stone staircases etched next to driveways along the right side of the street. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled to imagine her dinged and faded Subaru involved in such excitement. Drop off daughters at grade school, </span>
  <em>
    <span>check</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Chase international spies down Jamaica Plain streets, </span>
  <em>
    <span>check</span>
  </em>
  <span>. All before parking to start the workday with all the other bodywork specials in the BPD lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she reached out to pat the dashboard, Stephanie spotted Ranger’s amused expression from the corner of her eye and sighed. Probably Ranger's disconcerting intelligence had followed her entire flight of fancy. Or at least picked up enough to fluster her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Originally sure it was ESP, Stephanie now figured that Ranger’s ability to track and pounce in front of her imagination was a combination of her own expressive face and habit of mumbling, his own nimble intelligence, and yes… maybe a touch of psychic connection into her brain. It was one of the first things she had noticed about Ranger. Though everyone who knew her could apparently tell when her mind was spinning scenarios, Ranger was one of the few who could actually follow along. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Him and her Grandma Mazur. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Veering away from that thought, Stephanie replayed their conversation back to his original question. How totally like Ranger that he probably knew all about her car chase fantasy but was baffled by something as simple as her dashboard clock.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Ranger, this actually makes sense,” she explained. “The car clock is ten minutes fast like all the clocks in the house, because setting them slightly ahead helps me get places on time.” Stephanie paused as she saw the traffic light turn green, up ahead. “And obviously it’s off by an hour because it’s not daylight savings time anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A brief pause. “Ah. I knew there was a good reason,” Ranger replied, tilting his head sagely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know,” Stephanie added as she eased her foot down on the gas pedal, inching forward again in traffic, “the time will be right again in a few months. So why bother to change it? After all, only Mary Alice and I drive this car and both of us are fine with it.” Stephanie ignored for a moment that Ranger’s facial expression seemed to have veered close to smirk territory. Instead, she took a moment to quietly congratulate herself at the eminent logic behind her position. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she laughed mischievously. “Probably Angie will change the clock when she comes for Thanksgiving.” Stephanie glanced in the rear view mirror and then quickly flicked her eyes to Ranger. ”I don’t know why, but having the clocks off by an hour is something that drives her nuts.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger's eyebrow quirked upward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah well,” Stephanie shrugged in amusement, eyes returning to the traffic in front of her. “It’s a win-win for everyone. Angie gets to be a hotshot by saving me from terminal weirdness; meanwhile I don’t have to pull out the car manual to figure out how to change the clock.” As she found herself bottlenecked behind a car trying to turn left in the no-left-turn lane, Stephanie rolled her eyes and mumbled, “And, sheesh, after Angie resets the hour, </span>
  <em>
    <span>other </span>
  </em>
  <span>clock-challenged people riding in my car can figure out the time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard Ranger’s brief chuckle as he reached out his broad, bandaged hand to pick up his tea from the center console. Stephanie wondered briefly when he’d found time to pick up a commuter mug; it wasn’t one she recognized. Then she remembered seeing the David’s Tea shopping bag folded in the recycling as she grabbed her own coffee from the kitchen before finally leaving this morning with Ranger. She shrugged. It wasn’t surprising that her collection of assorted grocery store on-sale teabags probably wasn’t “Ranger” quality. After all, the man had taste. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Attention drawn again to traffic in front of her, Stephanie scowled as a large panel truck pulled into traffic, obscuring her view. As she did almost every morning, Stephanie spared a moment to wish that traffic wasn’t such a challenge on the road to-and-from the girls’ grade school. Or, that their school was on the way to work. However, this morning, she was somewhat glad for the time, since Ranger had unexpectedly accepted her offer of a ride this morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she thought about Ranger having his own tea and other supplies in her house, Stephanie realized that leaving the house with Ranger this morning, mugs in hand, had felt oddly natural. Though of course there was nothing even remotely normal about it. Even in her oddest fantasies she’d never visualized having Ranger in her car while she dropped Lisa and Sarah off at school and then headed over to the precinct. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, it all came together so easily: Ranger explained that he was planning to head over to pick up a new car at a lot in Brighton; Stephanie had noted that the lot was a quarter mile from her BPD-related appointment at 9:30; and Ranger had agreed to ride along with her instead of getting a taxi.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even though it meant stopping at the precinct first. Well, he’d never been shy about visiting the Trenton PD headquarters, even during the phase when Officer Gaspick had gone out of his way to write up Ranger for infractions. And, honestly, it felt normal to have Ranger see where she worked and meet her friends. Like how it had felt when he used to stop by Plum Bonds, back in the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What had also, unfortunately, felt normal was the moment when she realized that Ranger’s original car—his dinged-up Chevy—was missing from her driveway. Without even thinking she’d turned back from her living room window to check Ranger for singed hair or nicks left by exploding glass, or the unmistakable tell-tales of a Molotov cocktail or gunpowder burn. Then she’d blushed as her conscious mind caught up, realizing that her immediate assumption to explain a missing car was that it had been blown up. Like that would happen to one of Ranger's cars. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like that was a normal thing that happened to anyone but her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She glanced again at Ranger from the corner of her eye. She could tell he was trying to be casual while he scanned traffic from her passenger seat. She recognized the pattern he’d taught her for scanning her perimeter in a six-point pattern using her car mirrors and windows. As with all his physical moves, Ranger managed to make threat assessment look like a social grace. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger,” Stephanie said, angling a glance over at the man in question. “Now that we’ve dropped off the girls at school and I’m actually awake, can you tell me again why your car isn’t parked at our house this morning?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She watched him shift minutely in his seat, though it was clear that there was barely enough room for his long legs regardless of his angle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, I told you. I left it outside Geary’s Pub last night.” He took a sip from his tea. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Ranger, but I was still recovering from you scaring the bajeezus out of me in my livingroom this morning. I don’t remember what you said.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, even though my car wasn’t out front in your driveway, my coat was hanging on the coat rack by the door.” She could tell that the implicit assumption was that she should have known he was there. She narrowed her eyes; there was something fishy about the whole exchange….  She’d slept lightly and hadn’t heard him come home. And she could have sworn that his coat wasn’t there this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>If that wasn’t enough, something about his posture was telegraphing amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, okay,” she conceded for the moment. “And I’m sorry I threw my purse at you when you suddenly appeared in the dining room doorway. But do you remember how I’m not really a morning person?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s coming back to me Babe,” Ranger replied dryly as he returned his mug to the cup holder in the console. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After the quiet staccato of breath that Stephanie knew was Ranger’s internal chuckle, he continued. “I mounted surveillance equipment on the Chevy. Left it parked outside of the bar.” Ranger settled slightly back in his seat. “Left a couple elliptical microphones too, while I was inside.” Reaching into his coat pocket Ranger added, “Actually, I can check the feeds on my phone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie picked up her coffee again as Ranger glanced at his cellphone. Presumably to spy on his car. Or, more accurately, to use his car to spy on a crappy little bar in Dorchester while hitching a ride with her first-thing in the morning. Stephanie’s eyes narrowed as she puzzled over the larger situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, how did you get home? I don’t even remember hearing you come in.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Walked, cabs, walked again,” he answered in a slightly muted tone as he typed something on his phone. Then, amusement percolating through his voice he added, “I came in while you were showering this morning. Did you know that Mary Alice sneaks another pop tart for breakfast while you’re getting ready for work?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I’ve tried to break her of that habit, but since I do it too sometimes, I haven’t had much luck.” Then the penny dropped and she realized what he’d just revealed. That he’d gotten home this morning when she was in the shower. After they’d had breakfast and, let’s face it, after she’d done her morning peeking to see if he was around. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie slapped her hand on the steering wheel: he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>been playing with her when he’d snuck up behind her in stockinged feet this morning, stopping casually in the doorway with a smug devilment in his eyes. He’d waited until she was gazing out her front window, where she’d be sure to notice that Ranger’s car was missing. She shook her head: that was why Mary Alice had such a broad smile on her face as she’d ducked out to run for her bus to high school, right before Ranger appeared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That’s why Ranger had a smug look etched on his face at the moment, while he gazed down at his phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted: Ranger humor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt a momentary twinge realizing that, for the past several years, she’d missed his disarmingly off-kilter sense of humor and hadn’t even realized it. She felt momentarily jealous of the friends in his current life who’d shared it instead of her. Then she wondered: how many such friends did he have? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she slowed for another red light, Stephanie peeked over at Ranger again. She had no doubt that Ranger was aware of her scrutiny while he concentrated on his phone. But it was as close to an unguarded moment she’d seen. Even though he’d changed clothes and quickly shaved before they’d headed out to her car this morning, Ranger still looked tired. It was shadowed along his face and in the economy of his physical movements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie was starting to wonder if he always ran himself to the edge when he was on the job these days, or if it was this particular contract. And yet, he still radiated strength and humor. And a quiet nonchalance that she’d always found reassuring, even while she remembered how that same aura of self-sufficiency had always given Joe mental hemorrhoids. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With distance she now understood that Joe’s reactions had partly been that of one alpha male circling another, never able to get the upper hand. And, even more, Joe had correctly sensed that his own revolving-door girlfriend, Stephanie, consistently found Ranger’s attitude to be dead sexy.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, she still did, Stephanie affirmed to herself. Even though—Stephanie was startled to realize—she now appreciated Ranger as a man with limitations. And, for the first time in knowing Ranger, she could see those limitations integral with his strengths like the dark stripes entwined along the golden, muscular skin of a tiger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure, her mind still reeled out fantasies of his superhero abilities, but this time it was the strong, weathered </span>
  <em>
    <span>man </span>
  </em>
  <span>who captured her attention and made her wonder. Maybe he hadn’t shown her as many vulnerabilities before. Maybe she had chosen to not see him, preferring to be Wonder Woman to his Batman.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was too long ago; she wasn’t sure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What she was sure about, though, was that Ranger mattered to her. It felt </span>
  <em>
    <span>right </span>
  </em>
  <span>having him here. In her car, in her apartment, in her life. He was family.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard a horn behind her and realized that traffic had started moving ahead now that the light had changed. “Yeah yeah,” she muttered. “A five second delay is really going to slow you down when you’re behind other cars in traffic, you big dummy,” she shook her head while glancing in the rear view mirror at the driver behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger murmured in an amused tone from the next seat. “No Jersey one-finger salute out the window?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only in my mind,” Stephanie laughed, because it was true that she had fully imagined lowering her window, flipping the one-fingered bird, and using some of her favorite road insults. “The finger is willing, but the spirit remembers that it belongs to a mom who can be—and sadly has been—emulated by daughters who get in trouble in school when they parrot what I say and do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like some good stories there,” Ranger glanced her way, his lips tipped into a half smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh man, you don’t know the half of it,” Stephanie shook her head as she angled her car to take the left fork in the road. “The most recent was when Lisa got in trouble at school because she thought my use of the phrase ‘you moronic douchebag’ in the Walmart parking lot was something she needed to shout in the school cafeteria.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s barked laughter made her smile, even though she still did feel badly for Lisa. She truly hadn’t deserved a trip to the principal’s office for channeling her inner Stephanie after an older classmate made Lisa drop her tray. Secretly, Stephanie was proud that the earnest, serious little girl had stood up for herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the corner of her eye, Stephanie spotted Ranger rubbing his hand over his jaw as though masking a yawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy cow, Ranger, you were out all night," Stephanie exclaimed, stifling her own yawn. "Why didn’t you sleep in this morning?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Told you: gotta see a man about a car,” Ranger shrugged, a wry expression lifting his brows. “I'll go back to your place and sleep afterward.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie exclaimed, “I </span>
  <em>
    <span>told </span>
  </em>
  <span>you that you could drive my car. I have other options. If we take out the Happy Meal toys and Legos and wet naps, nobody will even know you’re driving a mom-mobile.” Shaking her head at Ranger’s stubbornness she mumbled, "Anything has got to be more reasonable than getting a new car so you can convert your other one into a two-ton spy cam."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, driving your car is too dangerous. The people who targeted me before might trace the plates back to you. Even if it's just for a day.” As she opened her mouth to reply, Ranger grumbled, “and there’s no fucking way I’m driving your other car.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie giggled at the sound of veiled horror in Ranger’s voice as she remembered the conversation on her porch this morning. After Ranger had matter-of-factly turned down her car for the same reason he was using now, Stephanie hadn’t been able to help herself. Reaching into her purse she’d pulled out the other keychain in a slow tease. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she’d brandished her second keychain with a huge smile. With a picture of a big finned, blue classic car on one side and the Buick logo on the other side, there was no doubt what car keys she was holding. Big Blue: the ultimate muscle car for men over 60.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While stopped in his tracks on her porch, Ranger’s usual control over his facial expression had faltered for a few moments while the keychain had twisted colorfully from her fingers. “It’s in the garage Ranger,” she’d said in a sing-song voice, pointing to the end of the driveway. “Just waiting to be driven. Say the word and you have a classic ride at your fingertips.” Barely able to control her laughter she’d hummed, “Wouldn’t you really rather drive a Buick?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Totally priceless. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger said, bringing her attention back to their current conversation in her car. “I meant to ask: how is that antique still running?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed again. “There’s an old guy down the block, Artie Leonard, who belongs to a classic car club. I think he’s even on the board of the Larz Anderson Auto Museum. Anyhow, Artie works on it and I let him take it to car shows. When he shows up in Big Blue, Artie is like a rock star among the old-guy car nerds.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, “I think, if laws allowed it, Artie would ask to marry Uncle Sandor’s car.” Wistfully she added, “He’s asked to buy it a few times. But I just can’t do it.” She shook her head emphatically. “Even when money’s been tight. It would be like selling a family member.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s scoffing exhale she amended, “Okay, a really out-of-fashion and kinda annoying relative that I’m embarrassed to be seen with. But that car has been good luck and I’m not parting with it. Besides, the girls think it’s the coolest thing we own. It’s worth having to buy spark plugs and timing belts from classic car websites. The last time we needed backup lights we had to get them directly from the factory in the Czech Republic, of all places.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A low, rumbled laugh accompanied Ranger’s “Babe.” It mixed amusement, bemusement, and something that felt like pride, and Stephanie smiled to hear it. She’d never known exactly what Ranger was thinking; not the way he could figure her out. But, Stephanie thought, the expressiveness he put into that one word could put poets to shame. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So anyhow,” Stephanie returned to the original conversation, “I understand why you want a car with heat and decent legroom.” She gestured vaguely toward Ranger’s legs wedged in the well beneath her glove compartment. “And I’m guessing that it’s one of your own cars, since you’re picking it up at that lot in Brighton rather than from a dealership. But, why not keep the old Chevy in play? Now that it’s been parked outside a place like Geary’s it’ll definitely be spotted if you drive it elsewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Counting on that, Steph.” Ranger replied. “Eventually I might want to reel them in, and now I can maybe use that car as a lure. Or a distraction. But, either way, the Chevy is fairly distinctive. Too recognizable. It's better to drive a new, nondescript vehicle.” Ranger reached over for his tea before adding in a low voice, “It’s not fully customized, but does have reinforced glass and my usual steering enhancements.” After a sip he added, “And it’s got heat, not to mention a VIN number I’m confident won’t pop if I’m pulled over.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So,” Stephanie couldn’t help but asking, “whenever you think someone might recognize your car you get a new one?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger tilted his head, and when he answered Stephanie swore his voice sounded baffled. “Well Babe, didn’t you always try to figure out why I had so many almost-identical cars with no identifying dings or scratches on them?” Stephanie glanced at Ranger, wondering if he knew about her unsuccessful back-door attempts to track where his Porsches came from—including his late lamented Boxster—during one of her longer stints at Rangeman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger simply shrugged, his face remarkably open. “It’s really not a mystery, Steph. You buy the same model each time and keep them in good shape. After you have a few, you can switch off. You can rattle people by having the same car seem to track them 24/7. Or, when tailed, switch plates occasionally and people looking for you aren’t sure what car they’re following.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” she muttered mostly to herself, “I never thought of that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In any case,” Ranger added after another quiet sip from his mug, “I figured someone would spot the Chevy eventually, if they hadn't already. Leaving the car there to do surveillance for me means I can be more than one place at once. While I track down other leads, the car can monitor the pub where several of my targets have been reported, and maybe worry them at the same time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why would they worry, Ranger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “If someone had started to connect the car to me, they’ll wonder about why it’s parked outside. Also, I put a set of DC plates on it so they might think it was left by Feds. Always good to give the other guy a reason to over-think things.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded as Ranger did his visual sweep of the car’s windows and then looked back down at his phone. It was quiet in the car for a moment, only the rattle of the heater and Ranger’s light tapping on his cellphone interrupting the muted sounds of morning traffic. Stephanie half reached for the radio to turn it on, but then returned her hand to the steering wheel. She had intentionally left if off this morning to avoid distracting either Ranger or herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tapped her thumb as she glared at the slowly moving traffic ahead of her, then glanced at the clock. Still on time, even with the unusually slow traffic this morning—and sheesh, how hard was it for other people to add or subtract an hour when looking at her clock? It was way easier than figuring out the sale price of blouses on the clearance rack, and people did that all the time. Subtracting a whole hour didn’t seem nearly as difficult, unless maybe it was around 1 p.m. Going backward from 1 to 12 had never really made sense. Or forward from 12 to 1. But in those cases, she just visualized the hour hand on a clock and it was easy. Steph nodded to herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s low voice interrupted her thoughts. “So Steph, I couldn’t reply to the texts you sent last night. Wasn’t in a good place. But you said Joe had intel about Geary’s?” It was Ranger’s intentionally casual voice. His face was still angled toward the phone in his right hand, but Stephanie had a strong sense that his eyes were slanted toward her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger, but not much more than you already told me. Mostly old stuff.” Stephanie eased the car forward. “Joe said he recognized the name ‘Geary’s Pub’ when he called last night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they approached the turn-off back to the center of Jamaica Plain, Stephanie continued talking. “Joe said it was before his time, but that maybe it was one of the places on the East Coast where the old IRA could scout for arms. Like back in the ‘70s or ‘80s. He said my boss Ryan might be able to confirm that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And this came up why?” Ranger’s voice was quiet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie paused for a moment, considering the change in Ranger’s voice. She felt a sudden tenseness in his posture and in the sinuous way his left hand sat on his thigh, looking poised to move. This was a side of Ranger she’d seen occasionally in Trenton, she’d never before had it directed toward her. She felt a sudden upswell of sympathy for this exceptional man, her weary friend who seemed temporarily unsure who to trust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” she answered softly, “Joe called to check up and, at the end, asked to talk with you.” Stephanie sensed a shift in Ranger’s position as she continued talking. “So I told Joe that you were out. He asked if you had already found the address I texted you, by Franklin Park. The one where he said after-the-fact reviews of ATF surveillance videos had placed someone looking like that guy Krc a couple weeks ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie ignored as the yellow light turned red, tapping the pedal to pull behind the car in front of her and wedge through the intersection. At the same time she added, “Of course, Joe never told us that. The same way you never told me anything about the guys you’re tracking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling Ranger’s continued tension like friction along her soul, Stephanie pulled her hand from the steering wheel and reached over, tentatively placing it on Ranger’s sleeve. Her touch was feather soft on his forearm, a light tingle sparking her fingertips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had a flashback to one of the first stakeouts that they’d shared in Trenton, when she’d learned to touch Ranger delicately while he was wired for action. To signal her presence without constraining him. In a moment of insight, the gesture reminded her of watching her mother tend to her father’s silences, reaching out with gentle fingers to Stephanie’s father in his gruff moments. As with Ranger, Stephanie had always known she was safe within her father’s shadow, yet she’d also known he wasn’t at peace beneath his brusque exterior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something to think about.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie approached the turn-off to the auxiliary BPD parking lot, down the road from the main lot. At this hour, she knew the lot next to the building would be full. Then she took a deep breath. She still had one other thing to tell Ranger. She debated keeping silent, or at least waiting until they were out of the car. Maybe she could mention it and then dash into the office. Or go the other way and maybe lose Ranger in the Subway sandwich shop and the 7-11 at the corner. Or the Dunkin’ Donuts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, like Ranger wouldn’t be able to find her. Stephanie paused for a moment to lower her window and tap her key card to open the parking lot gate. Nibbling her lower lip as she waited for the metal gate to open, she decided the best thing was to just keep talking before she chickened out. “So, anyway Ranger, that’s when I brought up Geary’s Pub. And that’s when Joe said he’d heard that name before,” she said in an even voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pulled into the familiar parking lot, steering one-handed as she scanned for a spot. Even this lot was relatively full at this time in the morning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But there’s one other thing.” She unconsciously feathered her fingers along Ranger’s sleeve as she continued. “Darius was over for Monday Night Football last night after dropping off Mary Alice, and overheard the tail end of my conversation with Joe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When the muscle tensed in Ranger’s forearm, Stephanie rushed to elaborate, “It’s okay Ranger: Darius didn’t hear anything important. He just came back to the kitchen at the point when I mentioned to Joe how weird it was that some tall, lanky guy with memorable scars like Krc would hang around a busy public place like Franklin Park during the day when everyone could see him. That’s when Darius said he’d seen a man like that on Friday—just a few days ago—when he was doing some Boston College community outreach thing at the big Franklin Park playground.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt Ranger turn to watch her with his full attention, his muscles like steel under her fingers. “Stephanie,” he said, his voice as deep as she’d ever heard it. “This isn’t a game that you invite your friends to.” Ranger pulled back and crossed his arms, leaving Stephanie’s fingers behind. She suddenly felt as though she was alone in the car. In a distant, quiet voice he added, “I’d forgotten. You never understood this.” His face was devoid of expression but Stephanie saw a dark, hooded expression in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And suddenly she was angry. Furious. She’d seen that look in his eyes before. That particular combination of retreat and resignation. It was the look of giving up, of closing down, of walking away. It was almost exactly how he’d looked the last time she’d seen him in Trenton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only back then she hadn’t known what that look meant.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She took a deep breath while she scanned her surroundings. She needed to marshal her thoughts. She needed to remember that Ranger was dead tired and probably still talking to the bygone Stephanie who he’d known over seven years ago. She needed to tamp down her anger. She needed to quickly rehearse how she'd learned to navigate these types of interactions in sessions with her therapist. And well, crap, she needed to park the car. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With another deep breath, she decided that squeezing her stout Subaru into the compact parking space left between two full-sized SUVs was the perfect way to refocus her attention. So, squaring her shoulders, Stephanie turned the steering wheel, empathizing with the squealing resistance of her car’s balky power steering. Threading between the cars on either side of the space, Stephanie momentarily imagined that she was docking her car with the international space station. With a mental head shake she reflected that she'd spent too much time watching TV with Mary Alice this past summer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another deep breath and the car was parked. She was ready, hopefully calm enough to talk with Ranger. Calm enough to stay in the present and not make this a fight about the past. Calm enough to stay in the car. Calm enough to show Ranger that she trusted him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning off the car, Stephanie sat back and looked at Ranger. She almost knew what to say. Honestly, she’d been thinking about this moment since talking with Ranger on Saturday evening in her kitchen. And her discussion with Joe last night had helped her understand what Ranger might need to hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She just hadn’t known that they’d have this conversation, right now, sitting in the parking lot before walking into her office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, darn it, Stephanie knew she shouldn’t be angry. At least, not at Ranger’s reaction. Even Joe had known when they’d spoken on the phone again last night, while Ranger was out. Before hanging up, Joe’s voice had gone quiet in the way he’d always employed to calm her, urging Stephanie to flat-out tell Ranger about the most important ways in which she’d changed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her ear, she heard Joe telling her that a man like Ranger was accustomed to make conclusions quickly and emphatically based on what he saw and knew. And Ranger probably had an out-of-date image of Stephanie; the one he’d had back in Trenton when he’d walked away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably braced for hurricane-force shouts to blast from the phone, Joe had ever-so-quietly reminded Stephanie of their final argument prior to breaking up. When Joe had told her he’d given up trying to figure out Stephanie more than a year before. That she never told him anything important except when she was angry, and then it was too late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Why else, Joe had asked, would he have so regularly handed off her care to his rival, Ranger? As Stephanie had gasped, clutching the phone like a lifeline in sweaty palms, Joe had asked if she'd ever noticed the point when Ranger had started handing her back to Joe without making a play to make her stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As gently as Stephanie had ever heard him, Joe had finished their phone conversation last night by reminding her that Ranger was a proud man, perhaps traveling down a road he’d failed at before.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yeah, Ranger wasn’t the only one who hadn't gotten much sleep last night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With the full weight of Joe's revelations in mind, Stephanie engaged Ranger’s stony expression. Projecting all the sincerity she felt she began. “Ranger, I want you to listen,” she said, “I mean, really listen for just a couple of minutes. Because, just like you taught me, you need all the intel you can get to make solid decisions, and you don’t have it all yet. You’re making some assumptions that aren’t true.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie saw his dark eyes riveted on her, simmering coals in his otherwise impassive expression. The frame of his shoulders loomed like ramparts within the confines of her car. “Ranger,” she continued, deciding that he wasn’t intentionally trying to intimidate her, “you think you know me and can guess the rest. But remember that a lot happened in the seven years after Trenton. I had to figure things out really fast.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked down at her hands in her lap and took a deep breath. “Ranger, I had to grow up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, she raised her head again, her eyes looking inward even as she turned toward Ranger’s face. “Ranger, I live every day, now, knowing that I have a family to protect. Those four girls depend on me. They already lost one family and I'm going to do everything to ensure they don't have to go through that again.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a quick breath and continued before Ranger could interrupt. “I changed my whole life around to give them a good, safe home. That means keeping myself safe and my friends, too.” She blinked back the sting in her eyes that she was determined would not turn into tears. “I’m not always smart Ranger, and I’m stubborn, but I do learn when I really have to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie blinked again and then focused out the window behind Ranger, barely noticing the disquiet in his expression. “So Ranger, I </span>
  <em>
    <span>do </span>
  </em>
  <span>understand that you walk in a dangerous world for which my family and friends aren’t prepared. And that their safety—and </span>
  <em>
    <span>your </span>
  </em>
  <span>safety—is not a game.” Stephanie shifted to look directly into Ranger’s deep brown eyes and, without thinking, reached her hand back over to him and softly curved her fingers along the shoulder seam on his coat. She could feel his muscles under her hand like a bulky, shaped boulder rising from the hard ground</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie,” Ranger intoned her name as though it were a complete sentence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As though, Stephanie thought to herself, her full name were the imperative form of “Babe.” She kept her eyes level as Ranger’s dark, penetrating eyes scanned hers. Deeply expressive, yet opaque.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded once before continuing, “I hear you.” Stephanie felt him release some of the tension in his crossed arms and she saw the tightness around his eyes ease. His voice, though, was still low enough to almost shake the air. “I accept your point, that I’m making assumptions.” Ranger’s watchful eyes remained riveted on her, with daunting attentiveness. “But it still seems like you you’re discussing very dangerous people with your friends. Which typically gets them involved, in danger, and needing rescue along with you. What am I not understanding?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie sighed lightly; she recognized the legitimacy of Ranger’s worry. She’d had years to revisit her own past actions, bravery, and mistakes while she’d been coming to terms with her new life here in Boston. She wanted to be righteous, but she knew it was more important to be honest. So she lightly squeezed Ranger’s arm under the bulky wool of his coat and simply said, “And, I hear </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger. And I understand why you have the concerns you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She tilted her head and gazed calmly into his eyes until he blinked and then nodded for her to continue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger, regarding Joe: remember that he’s the one who involved </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not vice versa. He’s the one who alerted me that you were in Boston; he’s the one who’s pursuing information to help you, relaying it through me. And,” she said with a sudden realization, “I think he even kinda started before we got you out of jail.” A puzzled shadow ghosted over Ranger’s face causing Stephanie to murmur, “You know, Joe has changed in seven years, also.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She squeezed Ranger’s arm again. “Anyhow, you already know that he’s using burner phones, calling me on my unlisted TracFone, and disguising his investigations to protect his family and mine.” Stephanie paused, then added with a brief smile, “Joe’s actually pretty smart, just like you.” Stephanie used her hand to teasingly tap Ranger’s arm before resting her fingers again along his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt her heart begin to unlock as she saw a slight glimmer of superior amusement raise Ranger’s brow. “So regarding Darius,” she continued. “When Joe called last night I took the phone back into the laundry room to get privacy. But then Darius came back to tell me he needed to head home, and that’s when he overheard me joke with Joe about Krc and his scar.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie knew she had one chance to make Ranger understand. “So, Ranger, I told Darius that Joe and I were discussing a confidential Trenton-based case. And that’s why I was having a phone conversation tucked away behind the dryer. So Darius said he didn’t want to know anything about it, but since he knows Joe he thought he should mention that he’d seen a guy like Krc last Friday afternoon. You can even ask Joe; he was still on the phone during the whole conversation.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger tilted his head, Stephanie added the rest. “Darius remembered it specifically because his ‘daddy’ instincts kicked in. He saw this menacing scarred guy and a dark stocky guy approaching a little girl by the emerald slides at the Franklin Park playground. It really stood out. He didn’t say it, but I suspect Darius was on the verge of a full-out running tackle to save the child. But, he said that the girl yelled ‘papa’ and rushed over to the stocky guy. So Darius let it go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She saw Ranger’s nod and then felt him shift. As he uncrossed his arms, Stephanie’s hand followed lightly down his left sleeve until she reached his hand, and she lightly twined her fingers in his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, if Darius had asked to get involved, I would have told him to let the cops handle it. But he won’t. Get involved, that is.” She shrugged, “Darius has his own daughter to consider and, besides, he knows that both Joe and I would yell at him and kick his shins if he got involved in police business.” She smiled self-consciously, “So, Ranger, you see. I </span>
  <em>
    <span>am</span>
  </em>
  <span> careful these days.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was silent for a moment, his thumb moving lightly across the top of her hand. “Proud of you Babe,” he said softly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s heart relaxed. She pulsed Ranger’s long fingers, still twined within hers. “Thanks,” she said, feeling her smile broaden and watching Ranger’s eyes lose some of their tension.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Savoring the moment, Stephanie kept quiet about her supposition that the stocky guy that Darius had seen with Krc might be Burc Aburek, Ranger’s lead who was supposedly traveling with a daughter. She’d leave that to Ranger, who had probably already reached that same conclusion. Though her native curiosity practically made her itch to discuss more about Ranger’s case, she intuitively knew that Ranger would need to decide when he felt comfortable bringing it up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She also kept quiet about the other element of carefulness—of protecting her family—which had been rolling through her mind since last night. She’d seen her girls’ fascination with Ranger grow over the past few days. But, last night it was clear that each of them was developing feelings for him. The idolization in Mary Alice’s eyes was practically palpable in the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie exhaled. Even though she was cautiously delighted to have Ranger back in her own, adult life, she couldn’t risk Ranger becoming part of her family if he was simply going to leave them the way he’d disappeared from Trenton. It had been bad enough, a few years ago when Stephanie had finally marshaled the courage to bring a boyfriend into her life—into her family’s life—only to have him decide after less than a year that he needed to “follow his job” to Albuquerque. What a sappy euphemism that was: he’d taken a promotion and left Stephanie and the girls to feel the sting of yet another abandonment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took courage from today’s conversation, though, difficult though it had been. She and Ranger had weathered one of the points of contention that Joe’s male experience had predicted would be pivotal to Ranger. She’d felt the risk of it, and her fight or flight reflexes had beaten in her blood like a kettle drum. But she’d been able to work through that. She’d spoken. And Ranger had listened. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Maybe getting older wasn’t entirely a bad thing, she mused, given that it also conveyed experience. More importantly, maybe years of therapy wasn’t a bad thing either. Stephanie resolved to get her therapist a nice gift for the holidays for making her spend so much time rehearsing difficult discussions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing over at Ranger from the side, through her eyelashes, Stephanie felt a twinge of amusement curl down her spine. In addition to everything else today, Ranger had actually agreed to be a passenger while Stephanie drove, when he could easily have taken a taxi. Possibly that was the biggest show of trust all morning, and she’d finally figured it out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger finally interrupted the quiet. “Why are we sitting in a parking lot?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie breathed a sigh of relief at the return to normalcy in Ranger's voice. “Because this is where the cars like to hang out while the rest of us go to work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you want me to stay in the car while you go into your office?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Ranger, I assumed you’d come in with me. How else can you rifle through my desk drawers like you used to do in Trenton?” She darted her eyes toward Ranger to gauge the amusement in his expression. Seeing the sparkle in his eyes, she added, “I figure you were the only one who dared the drawer with the tampons in front. But if you’d prefer to hang out here with your legs tangled under the dashboard, be my guest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, when you put it that way, Steph…” Ranger answered with a shrug. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reached inside his coat, drew out a small firearm, and put it into her glove box, followed by a nasty looking short knife he pulled from his left boot. “Your key will unlock this, right?” Ranger asked nonchalantly as he pulled yet another pistol from somewhere around his waistband on his far side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I thought your weapons were in the bag in the trunk.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe.” Ranger looked at her meaningfully while locking and closing the compartment in her dashboard.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help snorting, the strange rhythms of being with Ranger coming back to her. Of course he had weapons on him at all times. Knowing that he was about to go through a metal detector at a police station caused him to “undress.” Stephanie smirked, remembering that the only time Stephanie had ever heard him use that particular word was when he referred to weapons—despite numerous clothing removal moments that suddenly, distractingly were flashing into her mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shook her head to return to the present moment. “Got it Ranger. Just having a small mind cramp. I’m back with the program now. Ready to head in?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. Lead the way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie opened her car door to the swirl of brisk morning air. Cold again, with the promise of frost in the air, it was still warmer than the weekend, and crisply sunny. The scent of freshly fallen, wet and crushed leaves infused the day. In short, it was Stephanie's favorite autumn weather. Perfect for the passage from Halloween into Thanksgiving. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which reminded her… Stephanie looked at Ranger as they both rounded her car. “Hey Ranger,” she said, “I hear that Mary Alice invited you to Thanksgiving.” She saw his eyebrow twitch upward. “Consider it official. You know you’re welcome.” Stephanie smiled and reached out, twining Ranger’s fingers in hers. “You know, I would really like it if you spent the holiday with us. Or even just came to dinner. It’s just a few weeks away.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s firm fingers squeezed hers lightly. “Thanks Steph,” he said softly, a pensive look softening his features. She saw him look down briefly, a gesture that momentarily made him look vulnerable to Stephanie’s eyes. Then he continued in an even tone. “But I don’t know where I’ll be then.” He paused. “I don’t exactly have a good track record for holidays.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I remember Ranger: bad guys don’t take days off,” Stephanie repeated one of Ranger’s old sayings. But, even now it had the feeling of an excuse rather than a reason. She remembered the many times that Ranger had manned the Rangeman control room over the holidays, rather than spending time with family or friends. She couldn’t fault him for the time he’d turned down New Year’s Day brunch at Stephanie’s parents’ house, or when he’d declined the Plum Bonds Labor Day cookout. But she’d never fathomed why he didn’t seem to spend any holidays with his family in Newark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, she looked over at Ranger, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had </span>
  </em>
  <span>sometimes gone to Miami over Christmas to visit his daughter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a casually upbeat tone, Stephanie added, “Mary Alice mentioned that she invited Julie, too. You should do that. Bring Julie, that is. I think she’s the same age as Angie, so Julie would have someone to compare notes with. They could be cooler than everyone else, together. Then Julie could try to unseat Mary Alice as the reigning Plum household champ at Wii bowling.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they paused to cross the street, Ranger answered with a dry chuckle. “Wii bowling definitely adds incentive.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How about if I throw in baton twirling videos?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh and caught Stephanie’s eyes. “Pulling out all the stops, Babe.” The lingering glow from his laugh momentarily lightened the shadows etched around his eyes. As Stephanie reflexively clasped Ranger hand more snugly, he answered, “I’ll let you know, closer to the day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Ranger. I really hope it will work out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They crossed the street, the precinct building finally in sight. After a few moments of silence, Ranger lightly squeezed her hand again. “So Steph. Now I finally understand what you meant about how things can change after seven years. It’s morning, you’re heading into work, yet we’re walking away from the Dunkin’ Donuts on the corner back there.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed, hearing the apology implicit in Ranger’s teasing. She reached over with her other hand and fake-punched Ranger in the arm. “Hey, Mr. Know-it-All. I just have my donuts and coffee cake at home, these days. If I don’t eat breakfast with the kids they won’t eat, either.” At his raised eyebrow she added, “And yeah, okay, my metabolism has finally caught up with me so I have to be more careful of what I eat. But, if that were Krispy Kreme back there, it’s possible that we might be shoving people out of the way right now to get in the door.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Somehow I can visualize that,” Ranger nodded, a slight smile gracing his expression. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled too. She declined to add that watching her waistline was new, but watching her food budget had become habit for years now. Coffee at home and from the precinct breakroom before 11am when it turned to tar; eating out limited to once a week. These types of things had become second nature to her. But she wouldn’t bring them up because she didn’t want Ranger to worry about eating food at her house.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they got closer to the precinct building’s front door, Ranger nodded as though he’d made a decision. “I guess it’s been a long time for all of us,” Ranger said in a voice almost too low for Stephanie to hear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then in a conversational, measured tone he commented, “Steph, next time you talk to Joe, tell him to tread lightly when his searches lead him to Burc Aburek. Whether it’s part of that Franklin Park lead Joe mentioned, or otherwise.” Stephanie glanced up at him, but Ranger’s face remained focused in front of them. “Based on what I know, Aburek should be flagged on a Federal list of foreign explosives experts, but his name’s been redacted. That requires very high clearance to do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused, looking down at Stephanie. “I have someone looking into Aburek from the inside; Joe should back away. You should, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded earnestly. “Okay Ranger. I’ll tell him.” She stopped, pulling lightly on Ranger’s hand, and looked into his deep brown eyes. “Ranger, the last thing Joe told me to relay was that he thinks you need to find someone up in the hierarchy who you trust. Someone who can swing what you need. I got the feeling he might have a contact, if you’re willing to trust someone recommended by Joe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked forward again, lips pursed. “I’ll keep that in mind, Steph. These days, I don’t worry about whether to trust Joe. I worry more about keeping people safe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Ranger. You always have.” Stephanie resumed walking and felt as Ranger matched her step, alongside her. “I know that seven years has been a long time for you, too. But that’s something that’s never changed. You always look out for everyone else, to make sure we’re all safe. It’s something I’ve always admired about you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger gripped her hand in his broad palm, his fingers enveloping hers. “Thanks Babe. That means a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt tears pooling in her eyes for the second time that morning. Blinking them back she realized that, this time, they didn’t sting. “You’re welcome, Ranger.” Under her breath she added, “You’re one of my best friends.” Stephanie suspected Ranger heard her. As he always did. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Getting Through It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 15: Getting Through It</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After introducing Ranger to her cube neighbor Janice, Stephanie shrugged off her purse and unzipped her coat. "Ranger," she murmured as she watched his eyes quarter the room for better scanning. "I'll just be a few minutes. Feel free to hang out here in my cube." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled at his raised eyebrow, knowing that she’d just given Ranger an engraved invitation to poke around her things. Fortunately the security edicts of her office meant that sensitive files were under lock-and-key and the password on her computer might be complex enough that he wouldn’t be able to crack it in the few moments of stealth available. Especially given that all her coworkers were already oh-so-casually strolling by and sneaking peeks at Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking of… as Stephanie glanced back toward the hallway leading to her boss Ryan's office, she saw movement from the next cube over. Looking that way, Stephanie saw her cube-neighbor Janice’s well-coiffed head pop out into the aisle. Silently, face glazed with excitement, Janice mouthed, "He's that guy!" The sparkle in her hazel eyes was building to a smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shot a warning glance at Janice but couldn’t stop the blush from infusing her cheeks, renewing the pink that had just faded from the brisk outside air. Janice’s smile broadened. Stephanie sighed. Looking back over her shoulder at Ranger as he settled into her office chair, Stephanie volunteered, “And I’m sure my friend Janice here will be happy to help if you have any questions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Any questions at all</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought ruefully to herself as Janice stood up and gazed over their shared cube wall with the eagerness of a well-bred puppy. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie idly noted how Janice’s blonde, bobbed hair looked perfectly styled as always. It was a mystery how Janice achieved that look in all seasons, especially in winter with its fashion-quashing combination of hats and static electricity. No matter: Janice always looked like the country club receptionist that she’d been in a former life, before the last economic downturn. And she had the irrepressible social disposition to match.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie turned, she spotted her boss Ryan headed her way. A former detective, Ryan had no-doubt heard the difference in this morning’s chatter on the floor and come out to investigate. Actually, he'd probably been on-watch from the shadows of the back hallway since Ranger had signed in as Stephanie's guest at the front desk. The always curious look on Ryan’s face was overlaid by his hardened, no-nonsense street-smart squint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sinuously lifted himself out of Stephanie’s chair, his pea coat adding to his bulk as he seemed to fill her cube. She glanced at Ranger and then back to Ryan as she spoke. “Hi boss. I’m carpooling today. This is the houseguest I mentioned the other day, Ranger.” Realizing quickly that she’d never before needed to formally introduce Ranger, she quickly added, “That is, Ricardo Mañoso, but I always call him Ranger.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing a spark of amusement in Ryan’s observant eyes, she turned to Ranger, whose expression probably looked quietly noncommittal to everyone else in the room. To Stephanie, it telegraphed the humor of a cat watching a particularly bold yet unaware mouse. “Ranger,” she said with slight emphasis, catching his eye, “this is Lieutenant Ryan, my boss.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Lieutenant,” Ranger nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mr. Mañoso,” Ryan echoed, briefly yet firmly shaking Ranger’s outstretched hand. “Are you in town for long?” Ryan asked as though he hadn’t seen Ranger’s arrest report. Stephanie knew it had been attached to the paperwork Ryan had received when Stephanie had bailed out Ranger. She also knew Ryan well enough to know he’d read it cover-to-cover, and had probably done further checking on his own. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s still to be determined,” Ranger replied, smoothly deflecting Ryan’s question. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan nodded and made a vaguely affirmative sound through pursed lips. “I’ve come to know that Stephanie is one of those people who keeps friends for decades. From all over the country, it seems. As for me, I’m frickin’ related to all the people I’ve known that long. And, let’s face it: most of us still live within walking distance of Holy Name Parish.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged expressively. “But Plum, here: she keeps that porch light burning for everyone she’s befriended along the way.” Ranger nodded once, and Ryan responded with a brief, astute smile that creased the lines around his eyes in well-worn paths. “So,” Ryan continued, “it’s a relief that she’s always shown herself to be a good judge of character.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That she has,” Ranger said, briefly turning his eyes to Stephanie, his deep chocolate glance almost caressing her skin. Stephanie suppressed a shiver, seeing the pride mixed with other emotions behind his glance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan flicked his attention quickly between Ranger and Stephanie. “So Mr. Mañoso,” Ryan drew Ranger’s attention. “I see you're on the famous Plum tour of top Boston venues, where the Jamaica Plain precinct office is a frequent highlight. I hear it’s better than the Freedom Trail," Ryan quipped as Ranger eyed him with a knowing tilt to his chin. "Though, speaking of freedom," Ryan continued dryly, "I hope Plum isn't planning to make you fill out the department's back paperwork or drag you to all the scintillating meetings on her schedule today." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No," Ranger answered slowly. "Steph knows what I do well." Ranger's glance lingered on Stephanie. "And what I don't." Turning back to Ryan he added, "Today she just happened to be headed where I need to go, so she kindly volunteered to drop me off." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger needs to go to Brighton this morning, just like I do,” Stephanie cut in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ah,” Ryan nodded. “Giving us a chance to meet another of your friends, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>vice versa</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” Ryan’s lips hitched into an ironic smile. “Well, you’ll excuse us Mr. Mañoso.” Nodding at Ranger, Ryan started toward his office. “Plum, come walk with me. I want to sync up on today’s meetings before you head back out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie turned to follow Ryan after an apologetic smile at Ranger. She could see the humor in Ranger’s eyes as he lowered himself back into her chair. Spotting her friend Janice starting to lean over to talk with Ranger, Stephanie rolled her eyes. Janice was a born gossip and matchmaker; Stephanie knew she’d better get back to her cube quickly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Catching up to Ryan, she asked, “So, what’s up today boss?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Could ask you the same question, Plum, but I won’t.” Ryan ushered her into his office. “So instead I’ll just ask if you’re all set for representing the district at the Urban Areas Initiative gig all afternoon. I know that Maldonado from headquarters was supposed to take lead on that, but of course the dipshit got in that motorcycle accident over the weekend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, no problem. I went over all the notes yesterday and it’s a re-mix of community policing and security preparedness.” She paused. “Actually, even though I’m sorry Maldonado got hurt, it’s nice to get the chance to fly solo on this. I appreciate the trust since I know the press will be there, along with the mayor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well you’ve shown that you can handle yourself with the ‘suits’ so I’m happy there’s someone I can send to these things.” He looked down while rustling on his desk for something. “Someone who’s not me, that is, which is good for everyone. So you can have all the ‘flying solo’ I can find.” Ryan stood, running a hand through his hair. “Christ, you know anyone who works cheap who can file? It’s getting to the point where I should just have a bonfire in here and start over. I can’t find anything, anyway.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, nobody who’s looking for a job, in any case.” Too bad Angie was away at college, since she actually had a very un-Plum aptitude for things like filing and organizing. She’d made some serious spending money the past couple of summer vacations as a paid intern at a law firm. Which suddenly reminded Stephanie… “Hey, I did see some paperwork recently about one of those City of Boston youth internship programs. I could ask Janice to pull that out. We could file an application for an intern to help with office stuff.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan looked at her. “Not a bad idea,” he mused. “Yeah, let’s do that.” He gave up riffling through papers and sat down heavily in his chair, pushing away folders from in front of him. Then he and Stephanie both leaned over to pick up the papers that fluttered to the floor from all sides of his desk. “And what a win,” Ryan continued in a voice muffled by his desk. “We give a kid a city job, the kid goes home and tells their family and friends how wicked fun it is to work with the cops instead of getting arrested and sent to the slammer, and a new era of goodwill and happy cookouts takes root in Boston starting right here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, an internship here would be a good job for a kid whose family doesn’t have money and who wants to see what kinds of jobs are out there.” Stephanie shook her head in mock disapproval as she deposited a new stack of paper on Ryan’s desk. “And besides, you’d get your desk cleaned. You are such a cynic.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, goes with the territory, unfortunately.” Ryan shrugged and reached across his desk for a cup of coffee. “So Plum, did you have an intern job in high school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geez, no. I just did stuff around the house and got an allowance, got a job at the donut store, and then I got a summer job at a hot-dog stand. If I’d had an internship, probably it would’ve turned out to be at a whoopee cushion factory. Or maybe as one of those highway people who pick up papers with a sharp stick and collect dog poo in plastic bags all day. So just as well.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan laughed so hard he had to put down his coffee. “Oh god, that’s right, I remember your resume. It was the balls. We should’ve had it framed.” At Stephanie’s glare, he put his hands up in surrender and added, “No really, Plum. I saw that resume and I knew right away that you weren’t afraid to get your hands dirty, you had resilience and could adapt to anything on the fly, and you’d interacted with people all across the spectrum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He lightly slapped his hands down on his desk and then reached again for his coffee. “Also, it told me that you’d probably be a good fit for the job you have, which has you driving all over creation, winning over random disgruntled people, and changing gears all day long. So really, it was a good resume. It’s just a bit funny, you gotta admit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Stephanie answered, her inner self wanting to stick out her tongue in response to the humor still twinkling from Ryan’s pale blue eyes. It made her imagine how Ryan probably had looked as a boy. Probably he spent a lot of time in the principal’s office at school. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like Stephanie did. With that thought, Stephanie’s temper lightened with the memory of some reasons she’d landed in the principal’s office. She still thought putting the fishing-lure gummy worms in Joyce Barnhardt’s shoes was a personal best prior to sixth grade, though there were many contenders. Snorting, she conceded, “Okay yeah, my resume </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> kinda funny. And I guess it does tell a lot about me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ryan smiled over his coffee cup, “and you’ll notice that you’ve never, ever seen mine. And if I have any luck you never will.” He took a sip. “Anyway, what else you got going on today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This morning I’m headed out for an assembly at Egleston High, with a couple hours between that and the Urban Areas Initiative. Tomorrow I’m going for a meet-and-greet at the Hilltop charter K-8 school.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh good.” Ryan leaned back, his battered OfficeMax chair squeaking. “I heard that the private charter schools got over their hoity-toitys and decided it was good to have us visit as part of our standard outreach program.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, we just had to change around the agenda a bit. More hints on how they’re helping the community; quieter emphasis on how putting someone’s gun into your bookbag can make you an accessory to a crime. But we still cover all the same stuff.” As Ryan exhaled in amusement, Stephanie looked at the wall clock just above the cork-board. She briefly wondered what Janice was telling Ranger, and then one of the department flyers caught her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh by the way, while I’m visiting the schools, am I cool to mention the December 15th cop-shop open house yet, or are we still waiting for the final press release?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan barked out a laugh, the left side of his face pulling up in an ironic smile. “Plum, are you bullshittin’ me? It’s early November. It’ll be December 14th before we’ll be cool to announce that.” Stephanie snorted as Ryan continued, “So, just go through your usual roadshow. Somehow the way you do it has them ‘friending’ us—or whatever my kids call it—on goddamn Facebook. I send Brownie to those things and we get dog crap thrown at our cars again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tried to stifle her laughter, knowing that Ryan was referring to Evan Brown who was on loan Thursdays and Fridays from the Back Bay station. “Yeah,” Stephanie agreed. “He’s great at setting up events, we just have to convince him to never talk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Or pretend to rap. What a chucklehead,” Ryan grumbled under his breath, picking up his cup of coffee again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Ryan looked back up. “So, not to be remiss, I am glad you brought your friend Mañoso in today. I have a better sense of him now. Can’t say I feel comfortable about him, given what it says on his booking sheet and how easily he deflects questions, but I can see he cares about you.” Ryan took a noisy slurp. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie eyed her boss. “Well, I think he does. Care, that is. But why do you say that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Come on Plum, you know I’m a reformed street cop and detective. It’s in how he responds. It’s in his body language, too, when he thinks he’s diverted everyone’s attention.” Ryan paused, a quizzical expression lighting his eyes. “Has he always flirted with you like that?” Stephanie nodded as Ryan continued. “Figures. Anyhow, check out his eyes and hands when he does that. Your friend Mañoso has ‘tells’.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Stephanie nibbled her lip in thought. “Good to know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Plum, the bottom line is: after a few days up-close-and-personal you still trust him in your house and with your kids. So that says something. Just keep me in the loop and let me know if there’s anything I can do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I will, thanks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, today’s parting words,” Ryan chuckled. “Go forth and do your thing. Feel free to call this afternoon if you run into anything bizarre at the Urban Initiatives talk-a-thon.” Stephanie laughed inwardly as she turned to leave: she loved how he pronounced the word “bizahh.” And, she was oddly comforted that someone calmly accepted that she might actually run into the bizarre. Ryan raised his coffee cup in an offhand salute as he turned back to the paperwork scattering his desk. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stopped outside Ryan’s doorway, Ryan’s final phrase echoing in her mind. She remembered the first time Ranger said the same thing to her. It had been her first distraction job and she’d felt empowered. Like she was flying. Beyond finding her attractive, Ranger completely believed that she could do what she set out to do. He’d always acted like he believed in her. Why had she ever doubted it?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, now it was her turn to show him how deeply she believed in him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie hurried back to her cube, where Ranger was coiled casually in her chair. Taking a quick peek, she saw that Janice was on the phone on her own side of their shared cube wall. Briefly Stephanie wondered how long Ranger had been in her cube by himself. Hard to decide, really, which was worse: Ranger reconnoitering in her cube on his own, or Janice watching over him while telling embarrassing stories. Well, either way, it was what she’d expected, wasn’t it? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked up at Stephanie, his eyebrow arched. “So, work pictures?” He gestured his chin toward her cube wall. Following his glance, Stephanie’s eyes scanned the collection of photos she had tacked to her wall. She idly noted the hints of rectangular, faded patches that she hadn’t managed to cover behind the current arrangement.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling her heartbeat trip she raised her own chin and answered, “Yeah, I have pictures from everywhere I worked, all the way back to college. I sometimes can’t believe how young I look in the big one on the lower left, from E.E Martin. You can tell it was before we were all laid off because we were grinning like goofballs. I think it was about a week before, actually.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s mouth twitched in one of his almost-smiles, then he looked back at the wall. “The one from Rangeman,” he gazed at the picture in question. “Where did it come from?” Stephanie inspected his profile, finding only curiosity in the slight wrinkle in his brow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hector,” she answered. Ranger looked back at her, his deep brown eyes telegraphing a question though Stephanie couldn't read what it was.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hector,” she repeated. “In the last few months I was in Trenton. I wasn’t working for Rangeman anymore but every now and then I’d find him lurking near the Tasty Pastry or—even weirder—near the Coffee Quickstop by the TPD building where I was working dispatch.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie remembered the first time she’d run into Hector after Ranger had left town. She’d been coming out of the Tasty Pasty with a box full of half-price-after-3pm donuts. She’d never noticed the Radio Shack two stores away until she saw Hector exiting. Stephanie hadn’t turned away in time, and Hector had spotted her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Angelita,” he’d called out as he’d jogged toward her in the lot. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hesitantly she’d greeted Hector under the overcast Trenton sky, unsure what to expect. Her recent encounters with the Merry Men hadn’t been particularly comfortable, and Hector had always made her nervous. But as he’d looked at her with a shy and radiant smile, his windbreaker flapping in the parking lot, she’d opened her box of donuts and gestured for him to take one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So they’d stood quietly munching donuts, using her latest piece-of-shit car’s hood as a café table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Estephanie,” Hector had finally said in a halting, accented voice, “no good you stay away. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No está bien.</span>
  </em>
  <span> You come work search.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Puzzling out Hector’s comments, Stephanie had answered, “No Hector, I don’t work at Rangeman anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, you no like sitting one place. Like action. I know this. You come work installation </span>
  <em>
    <span>conmigo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. With me. I teach you wires and boxes you no shoot. You teach me English better.” He smiled mischievously. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Es posible </span>
  </em>
  <span>I teach you </span>
  <em>
    <span>maldiciones</span>
  </em>
  <span>—how you say bad words—in Español.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had laughed and then sighed. “Thanks Hector. But no; I don’t want to be a Rangeman charity case anymore. Or get paid to fill the Rangeman minority quota.” She still remembered Ranger telling her that, once, when he’d offered her a job. He’d been trying to help her with a paycheck when she’d needed money, but still… not exactly an ego-building job description. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Hector’s expressive frown she’d added, “Really, though, I already have a job. I start in the TPD dispatch department on Monday.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Hector had not been impressed; the dark glare of his eyes had accentuated the opaque teardrops tattooed under his eye. “You back with cop. Why?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh? Oh you mean Joe?” Stephanie had puzzled out. Not sure why she was opening up to this man she barely knew, Stephanie had explained that Joe helped her get the job, but as a friend. She’d explained the long story of introducing Joe to Amanda, now Joe’s wife. And how revealing it had been to see what Joe was like when he wasn’t constantly in fear or competition over his girlfriend, as he’d been with Stephanie. Joe was a new person; or rather, he was back to being the wry and resourceful man she’d initially thought she had loved. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In retrospect, Hector’s intelligent gaze had encouraged her to speak more openly than usual. She’d guessed in that moment that Hector understood a lot more than people probably assumed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Hector had nodded. “Okay. Cop is good man, </span>
  <em>
    <span>pero novio baboso. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Not right boyfriend. So you can work TPD or Rangeman, all the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d shook her head no but kept quiet, dusting powdered sugar off her fingers and handing Hector a napkin. She hadn’t wanted to add that Rangeman just reminded her of the fact that Ranger had left. And if Lester had been telling the truth that final time Lester had oh-so-casually run into Stephanie alone after hours, standing a little too close and touching a little too much, Ranger was gone for good. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She hadn’t wanted to say any of that to Hector. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So instead, she’d said “no” again and they’d parted ways. The next day she’d found an envelope under her windshield wiper with a large “H” on the outside. Inside she’d found several Rangeman pictures. Hector had later told her that he’d pulled them from cellphones and surveillance video. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The picture on her wall in her BPD cube was a group photo, obviously a debrief after a distraction. Stephanie was flushed in the center, her curly hair artlessly tumbled into vitality. Ranger's large hand rested casually on her shoulder as he spoke to someone off to his other side. Meanwhile Tank, Bobby, Manny, and Junior stood around and Cal was hovering like her own guardian Hells Angel. She could see Hector’s reflection in Ranger’s truck window. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Earth to Steph,” she heard Ranger say. Stephanie came back to the present, seeing Ranger still sitting in her cube chair, making it look small. He was scrutinizing her, one eyebrow raised. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry, got a bit lost, there. But, yeah, Hector gave me that picture. It was really nice; I probably should have tried to keep in touch with him after I left Trenton, but I was pretty distracted for awhile. Actually, the only people I’m still in touch with were the ones who kept reaching out to me even when I didn’t get back to them for awhile." Glancing down she murmured, "Also, not speaking any Spanish at the time was a bit of an obstacle when it came to Hector.”</span>
</p>
<p><span>“I’m sure he understood.” Ranger said. From the corner of her eyes, Stephanie saw Ranger smile. “You were rockin’ that black dress, Babe.” Ranger swiveled toward her, his brown eyes sparkling. “Still have it?” His eyebrows raised. She thought she heard the echo of the husky purr she remembered in Ranger's voice. The one that used to make her shiver when he'd stepped close. It still did, Stephanie reflected as she felt a momentary flutter along her skin.</span><span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>“I don’t know Ranger,” she hedged, still coming back from her moment of introspective memory. “I haven't had much opportunity to wear little black dresses the last few years." Stephanie smiled self-consciously, "As a shocking turn of events, life as a soccer mom doesn’t lend itself to glamorous evening soirées.”</span> <span><br/></span><span><br/></span><span>Over the cube wall Janice called in her slightly nasal voice, "Oh, don’t let her fool you, my friend.” Great, Stephanie sighed. Janice’s phone call was over. “Steph,” Janice stood, “you should show him that royal blue dress you wore to last year's holiday party. After they saw you, about a third of the women in black cocktail dresses wished they were wearing blue."</span></p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted. “Yeah okay. On that note, Ranger it’s time to head out. You all set?” She reached around Ranger to grab a box of printed brochures off her filing cabinet, nearly colliding with his shoulder as he turned in his chair. She was momentarily distracted by the scent of his sandalwood soap mingled with the masculine essence that was just Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He spoke, breaking her from her momentary trance. “Sure Steph, let’s roll.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie put the box of flyers in a canvas bag that had other supplies in it. As she picked it up and backed out of the cube, Ranger stood, a speculative look still sparkling in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie finger-waved to Janice, ignoring her friend's wink, and called out her usual farewells as she steered Ranger back to the public entrance in front, where Ranger needed to sign out. Amused, Stephanie noted that seemingly everyone in the building had developed a sudden need to be in the hallway while she and Ranger headed out. Stephanie snorted thinking that maybe she should wear a shirt saying “Yes I have an insanely good looking friend, get over it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After they finally cleared the front door and stepped back into the brisk outdoors, Ranger looked at her with a playful tilt. “So Steph,” Ranger murmured in a deceptively casual voice, “do you still have that blue cocktail dress?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously Ranger?” Stephanie rolled her eyes as she continued walking, though she was secretly flattered that he asked. These days, Janice was about the only person who commented on Stephanie’s outfits, unless it was to point out a stain. She darted a quick look to Ranger to see if she could pick up any of those “tells” that Ryan had mentioned, but all she spotted was Ranger glancing back at her with smug amusement.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pretended to sigh. “Yeah, I do have the blue dress, but I truly don’t know if I still have the black dress from that photo. That was a long time ago, and I moved one.. two… no </span>
  <em>
    <span>three </span>
  </em>
  <span>times since then. Who the heck knows what clothes I still have from Trenton.” She grinned mischievously. “Though, I do still have the fake Louboutins that I bought from Dougie. When you have shoes that awesome, you track them carefully.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know you still have your priorities clear.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You bet, Ranger. Shoes are like guns,” she said, watching Ranger’s subtle double-take from the corner of her eyes. “You’re not fully dressed unless you have the right ones strapped on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She smiled again as she heard Ranger’s exhaled laugh. Stepping into the intersection at her side, Ranger commented dryly, “Which is why I’ll feel better after we’re back in your car, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Yeah, and we’re almost there since you’re like one of those speed walkers.” She saw Ranger’s lips purse in a self-righteous smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They continued walking in companionable silence. When they reached Stephanie’s battered Subaru, she pulled out her key fob to unlock the doors. Then she handed the keys to Ranger while she stuffed her bag of supplies in the back seat. By the time Stephanie joined Ranger in the front, he’d finished putting his weapons back in place and had closed the glove compartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled at him as she buckled in, took the keys back, and started the car. As she pulled out of the lot and started driving toward Brighton, she wondered at Ranger’s return to silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, still facing forward, Ranger asked, “Did you hang out with any other Rangemen, other than Hector, while you were still in Trenton?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie wasn’t entirely surprised by the direction of Ranger’s thoughts. She took a breath and replied, “I didn’t really ‘hang out’ with Hector, you know. We had donuts and coffee a few times when I ran into him, but that was it.” Stephanie slowed for a stop sign and added, “But no, I didn’t really run into many people from Rangeman after you left. Not surprising, though, since I mostly only saw them at Vinnie’s, or when I was with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tapped the accelerator, moving into the intersection. “I left Vinnie’s shortly after Val died. I needed a more stable job. But I did see some of the guys at random times after that. I occasionally saw Ram and Manny drive by, and we’d wave. I ran into one of the Chesters at the Hamilton-24 movie theater.” With a chuckle she added, “I never knew he had a daughter. We met in line for a special showing of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Little Mermaid</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He was totally embarrassed. Oh, and sometimes I bumped into Hal, though he usually ran from me on sight,” Stephanie snorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not Tank?” Ranger asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not really. The few times I called Rangeman they routed the phone to him, but that was about it.” Stephanie remembered being confused at how uncommunicative Tank had been. But she’d decided that Ranger’s mission status was probably super-secret confidential, so there wasn’t much Tank could tell her. And, if Tank was anything like her, he’d have to avoid being around Stephanie to keep from spilling the beans. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she somewhat doubted that last theory. But Tank had never been a Chatty Cathy, so she’d gotten over her surprise at his cool distance. Then, by the time she’d left for Boston enough time had passed—and she’d frankly had enough other things on her mind—that the state of people at Rangeman was not something she thought about. Rangeman itself had seemed like a strange place. When she’d stopped by to return Ranger's apartment fob and her keycard, and to give her forwarding address to Tank, she hadn't even known the man staffing the front desk.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking over at Ranger, she nibbled her lip for a moment. Then, focusing on the road ahead of her, she added, "Strange as it seems, the one Rangeman who's kept in touch is Cal." At Ranger's eye swivel, she quietly laughed. "I know, huh? But every year he sends me a Christmas card, or I guess really his girlfriend Velma does. She's nice; I met her a few years ago when I was in Atlantic City for a conference. Cal gave me a tour of the motorcycle shop he runs with his uncle, and we got drinks afterward."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"I wondered where Cal had gone," Ranger said, sounding almost distracted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, he split from Trenton even before I did. I guess he decided he had more fun being a badass with a welding torch than with a gun. Though he's more like a badass hiding a heart of gold." Murmuring at the memory, she told Ranger, "I spotted Cal in the parking lot when we were laying Val and Albert to rest. He didn't come over, or anything, but he's hard to miss. And then, he and Raphael were both lurking in the trees when we said goodbye to my mom." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Nobody else from Rangeman was there?" Ranger asked in a quiet voice, facing Stephanie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, but it's not too surprising. You guys never knew what was going on in the 'Burg unless Connie or I told you. Probably Connie was how Cal found out, though I don't know for sure."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie angled her eyes to meet Ranger's unsettled gaze. "The guys didn't come over, or say anything after the service, but it was comforting that they were there. Even if it was a little weird at the same time." Nodding to herself she murmured, "It reminded me of how sometimes I'd know you were watching out for me, back when I was still bounty hunting. I knew you didn't want me to know you were there, but it made me feel like I had a friend riding along with me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking back at the road, Stephanie felt Ranger's gaze linger on her. “You know, Ranger, I missed that. I missed knowing you were there. I probably had taken it for granted; taken </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>for granted.” Quietly she added, “And I’m really sorry if it felt that way.” She glanced at Ranger, who was watching her intently, and then back at the road. “Even though it’s overdue, you meant so much to me Ranger. I want you to know that.” Swallowing, she confessed, “You still do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, that means a lot.” Ranger said quietly. She saw his hand clench and could tell when he’d finally looked away, his face stoically facing front. She concentrated on traffic while she listened to the ticking of her dashboard clock beat the slow measure of time passing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, to her surprise, Ranger began speaking in a low, deliberate tone. “That job, the last big one I did at Rangeman, wasn’t the usual type of mission. I got the call in the middle of the night from a former commander from back in the Army who'd gone to the Pentagon. I hadn’t spoken to him in years, but he remembered me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled. “They’d lost a man on a covert mission; someone I’d admired all the way back in Basic when I was still getting my juvie ass straightened out.” Knowing how deeply Ranger felt about his Army comrades, Stephanie reached out her right hand to cover his broad fist where it lay tense on his leg. She felt the energy uncoil from his skin as he opened his fist under her palm and furled his fingers with hers.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shifted slightly; their hands still together on his leg. “Sanchez, the man I’d known, died in the early stages of the mission. In a random car accident of all things. And they needed a ex-military replacement with his training and abilities right away.” Ranger paused; Stephanie nodded to let him know she was listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger continued, “Mostly the ‘away’ missions I’d been doing for Rangeman were simple retrieval of criminals, or sometimes renditions of dangerous suspects. All variations of simple track-and-grabs. But this mission was different. It was an insertion, an infiltration where I'd be behind lines, operating on my own for extended periods of time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged, still looking forward. “It was like I could be an Army Ranger again, with a mission that was important and latitude to act.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie squeezed his fingers, then pulled her own hand back to the steering wheel to make a full right turn onto Chestnut Hill Avenue. They were getting close to their destination. “I can imagine that must have been compelling,” she said quietly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment of silence, Ranger said gruffly, “It was more than compelling, Steph. It felt like a lifesaver. It was a chance to </span>
  <em>
    <span>matter </span>
  </em>
  <span>again. To get out of the holding pattern my life had become.” He chuckled darkly, “To be </span>
  <em>
    <span>hecho y derecho</span>
  </em>
  <span>; to be a goddamn man again.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the ensuing silence, Stephanie took a moment to absorb Ranger’s comments. She tried to imagine how the vital, courageous, cocksure man she remembered had been feeling the way he described. She would never have guessed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Or maybe she just hadn’t looked closely enough. She’d never thought seriously that Ranger would need that kind of affirmation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Ranger interrupted the silence, his voice back to its normal, smooth baritone. “Of course, after a year on the mission I remembered the reasons why I got out of the Army in the first place. But being away from the day-to-day did give me a chance to figure some things out. It was like a re-set. It helped me see what I needed to change in my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Ranger was talking, Stephanie had made another right turn in traffic, approaching the side entrance of the building complex where she was headed. After a few beats, she quietly asked, “What do you mean?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She could feel Ranger turn to look at her. While she waited, she listened to the sound of an ambulance in the distance, the rattling sounds of her car, her breath.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Ranger spoke, still gazing at Stephanie. “You know, I started Rangeman after only a year out of the Army. I didn’t really have a well thought-out plan beyond knowing the type of work I wanted to do, and how I could make jobs for a hardass like myself and a few other returning vets I knew. My theory about business was roughly ‘excel at what I do; be a badass; make money'.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled briefly and Stephanie felt herself smile. “Oh, I knew the basic mechanics of running a business from watching my dad. I knew how to review and issue contracts, send invoices, get an office, open a bank account, that kind of shit.” He shoved a hand through his dark hair. “But then, Rangeman grew so big, so fast. And I spent most of my time establishing chain of command and discipline; more time chasing paperwork than bad guys. After awhile I spent almost all day doing that crap. Being CO—hell, being CEO—of a company...” Ranger shrugged and pursed his lips ruefully. “Well, you get the gist.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed, nodding slowly. “I think I do. I can see how being away from all that must have been a relief.” Driving through the entrance and toward the back of the building complex, Stephanie was momentarily lost in reflection. Ranger had told her more, today, about himself than he ever had. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>never </span>
  </em>
  <span>before told her anything about his missions. Very little about himself, either. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glancing over as she headed toward a car-sized space between two parked trailers, she saw that Ranger was looking around in a clear surveillance pattern. She pulled into the spot, confirming that there was more than enough room for her car. Just as she sensed Ranger looking back at her, Stephanie said, "Okay Ranger, we're here." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In response to Ranger's raised eyebrow, Stephanie explained, "This is the service lot behind Saint Elizabeth's Medical Center. The repair place where your car is getting delivered is about a mile that way," Stephanie pointed toward Ranger's side window. "So I figured you could go in the hospital or duck through the parking garage before going to pick up your car, if you want to make sure nobody follows you. Then for me, I overshot my turn a couple blocks back. So I can turn around and look lost when I pull out so nobody will think I'm doing anything tricky either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She saw Ranger’s tired face overtaken by a radiant smile. The full 100 watts. "Babe, that's really good. It's something I would have done."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled impishly back at Ranger. "See, I did pay attention to you when you taught me stuff. I was just too young and stubborn to admit it." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Ranger’s smile, Stephanie switched off the car and reached through the gap in the seats for her purse. “So Ranger, I was thinking.” As she pulled back into her seat she glared up at Ranger, admonishing, “And don’t say anything about smoke coming from my ears.” At Ranger’s low chuckle, she mumbled, “Very funny.” Taking a deep breath, she continued, “Anyhow, I know this guy, Gerry, who’s good at stakeouts and following people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Ranger’s skeptical look Stephanie hastened to add, “I figure that Joe’s Franklin Park lead means you have yet another place to stake out, so you need another pair of eyes. It’s what Gerry does.” She pulled her phone out of her purse and started scrolling down her contacts list. “I talked to him the other day. He’s looking for work since the private investigator he mostly worked with retired a few months ago. Ah, here’s his phone number.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pulled a notepad from a pocket of her coat and wrote down Gerry’s name and number. Tearing off the page she handed it to Ranger. “Here’s Gerry’s info. It’s up to you if you call him, but he gets results. You just have to pay Gerry and keep him focused.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Resisting Ranger’s stare, which gave her a subliminal urge to squirm in her seat, Stephanie kept going. “Okay Ranger, so here's an example. On a job he did off-the-books for one of our detectives, he tracked two guys every day for over a month. He developed a whole notebook full of leads. The cops arrested four people and got three convictions, with a plea deal that netted them names for the FBI. He’s like a bloodhound.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was looking at her like he was waiting for the other shoe to drop. She was able to hold out for two exhales, three exhales, four exhales.... “Well okay,” Stephanie added, “actually he’s a bit obsessive.” After a pause, “Possibly he’s a little odd.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Odd, Babe?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie did finally squirm slightly at Ranger’s skeptical expression. Thinking of the people she’d introduced into Ranger’s life, she could imagine he’d be nervous about someone who even Stephanie found to be odd. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well he was going to love this.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Ranger. Gerry is actually sort-of a stalker.” She continued speaking through Ranger’s low laughter. “But really, Ranger, that's what makes him good at tracking people and staying under the radar. Mostly he’s just super curious, like I am. The only hitch is that you have to avoid having him track really tall blond people—male or female, like basketball-player tall—because that’s when he gets obsessive.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyebrow raised higher than she could ever remember having seen. Hastening to reassure him, Stephanie said, “On the good side Ranger, it’s a really specific obsession. All you have to do is pay him money to track someone else and he’s back to normal again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see,” Ranger said with an ironic nod, but Stephanie noted that he tucked the paper into one of his coat pockets. He glanced at his wristwatch. “Well, I gotta roll. The guys dropping off my car are on a schedule.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie said, pulling out the key and opening her door. Meeting Ranger at the back of the car she made a mental note that she should check into getting the electronic unlock fixed on the trunk, especially since the physical lock was a bit bent. She pushed and prodded the key until the hatch creaked open. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger lifted the hatch door the rest of the way and then reached inside for his duffle. He stuffed his now-empty tea mug inside, re-zipped it, and effortlessly one-handed his bag out of the car. By the lumps, Stephanie knew the duffle bag contained additional weapons along with whatever else Ranger kept in his cars while working. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably not a car lapdesk, Stephanie snorted to herself, unlike Joe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After closing the hatch and swinging the duffle over his shoulder, Ranger turned to look at Stephanie. As he hesitated a moment, she couldn’t help but feel enveloped by his chocolate brown eyes, which illuminated his handsome, fatigued face in the mid-morning light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” she said softly, suddenly feeling shy. “Thank you for talking to me this morning about your mission. About Rangeman.” She paused, looking down. “I’d like to hear more, sometime, if you want.” She glanced up at Ranger through her lashes to see his reaction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” he said softly, with an expression Stephanie didn’t recognize on his face. Puzzled for a moment, Stephanie thought Ranger looked almost shy as he added, “I think I’d like that.” His lips relaxed briefly into a gentle smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Impulsively, Stephanie found herself lifting her arms, her hands reaching out to rest on Ranger’s shoulders like a bridge. In the ensuing slight zap of static electricity, Stephanie leaned forward and kissed him lightly on his cheek. She took a deep breath, taking in the sheer Ranger-ness of him. She sensed as Ranger smiled, and then his arms came gently around her waist. She felt the light brush of his lips on her hair as he kissed the top of her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They stood together for a moment, silent in the parking lot, absorbing each other’s warmth and strength through their coats. Stephanie inhaled again; she had worked hard over the years to forget how simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> she'd always felt when wrapped in Ranger's arms. But now that feeling infused her—along with a sense that time had briefly muffled itself around them in silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally Ranger pulled back and released her. “I do need to go, Steph,” Ranger said, his voice rough. He lifted his hand and briefly brushed his hand against her chin. “I’ll call you later; maybe this afternoon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’d like that, Ranger.” She smiled, feeling as though she was still leaning against him, her face flushed where she’d rested it briefly against his shoulder.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See you later Babe,” Ranger nodded with a private look in his eyes that Stephanie realized she hadn’t seen for years. Then he inhaled and turned toward the hospital’s rear entrance. Stephanie watched his lithe, muscular frame as he strode toward the double doors. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled as she saw two nurses collide with each other as they caught sight of him. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Some things never change</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. Stephanie was sure Ranger had seen the two women, but neither his posture nor his stride changed as he walked through the doors, into the hospital, and out of Stephanie’s sight.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still smiling, Stephanie whispered, “See you later, Ranger,” as she hitched her purse back onto her shoulder and turned back to her car. She felt like she’d been sprinkled with fairy dust, with tingles all along her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yup, some things never change. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Following Clues</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 16: Following Clues</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey Chief."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Don't call me that," Ranger admonished the small energetic man who was taking a seat across from him in the nondescript diner behind the Southbay Shopping Center, home of Ranger’s new regular BestBuy. Ranger glanced down at the menu to divert eye contact, though Ranger already knew what he planned to order. In his periphery, he could easily follow movement of the waitress and the other customers in the weak afternoon sunlight that barely filtered through the diner’s small front window.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aware of his guest putting down a duffle bag and settling in, Ranger was amused at himself for following up on another one of Stephanie's recommendations. From her description of Gerry this morning, this had all the earmarks of working with that ridiculous transvestite friend of hers back in Trenton. What was his name? Oh yeah: Sally. It had taken all the discipline Ranger had possessed to keep from slipping and calling the dress-wearing man Salvatore every time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged; turns out that his experience with Salvatore—crap, Sally—actually explained why Ranger had decided to reach out to Steph's new friend Gerry. Because, like all of Steph's collection of impossible friends, Sally had more than proven himself in the breach. Starkly put, when Ranger couldn't get it done, Sally had taken out the top three layers of Trenton’s Slayer gang in a hail of bullets and a few well-placed collisions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged again at the memory. Gotta give props to a butt-ugly man in a dress and fuck-me pumps who stops a gang coronation with a school bus and an Uzi.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that was why Ranger had tried out Gerry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Gerry perused the menu, Ranger glanced over his own menu to scan the diner in a simple star pattern. Over the years, Ranger had developed an appreciation for places like this. Places where the hardscrabble clientele was mostly there for easily-explained reasons: to drink cheap coffee, eat, use the john, and take a breather before starting the next shift, or heading down the next segment of highway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger knew how to blend into places like this. At the same time, it was easy to spot people who didn’t quite belong. Both in the restaurant, or lurking along the nondescript, industrial stretch of road outside. Ranger smirked internally: Gerry would have been obvious to spot as an outsider if he’d come here looking the way he had this morning when they'd met in the cafe inside a nearly-empty local multi-screen movie theater. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that time Gerry had apparently been dressed for an interview, with ironed pants and polished hair. But now, Ranger noted with approval, Gerry looked anonymous in a non-descript, long-sleeved shirt, dark chinos and shoes. His cold-weather jacket matched about half of the coats hanging from hooks and chair-backs in the diner. His hair was still a thick and shiny black pompadour, but it didn't call attention to Gerry anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, slightly mussed by the wind, Gerry’s hair simply matched his Italian features as much as the light olive tone of his skin and the plane of his forehead that angled down to his distinctive Roman nose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Really, the things that mostly stood out about Gerry were his pale gray eyes, which peered startling from under his deep dark eyebrows, and his short stature. Shrugging to himself, Ranger reflected that Gerry wasn’t too much smaller than Hector, which had never counted against his old friend. And distinctive eyes could always be masked with contacts, glasses, and hat brims. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching Gerry over his menu, Ranger was grudgingly impressed that Gerry instinctively sat angled with a peripheral view of the door like Ranger, with a view of the emergency exit reflected in the front window. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked up as the waitress marched stoutly over to their table, rubber-banded pad of paper in hand. After quickly reciting his order, Ranger watched Gerry as he spoke with the short woman, whose steel-gray hair, thick knobby hands, and no-nonsense manner clearly placed her as a career waitress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his eyebrow drifting upward as Gerry started chatting like an enthusiastic, clueless college student. Interestingly, Ranger noted that Gerry’s Boston accent became notably stronger to match the short, working-class phrasings of the waitress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Gerry’s jokes became more specific: a pointed comment about the Patriots’ most recent opponent, a crack about a recent televised segment where both the mayor and governor had mispronounced the name of the school they were visiting. Suddenly, surprisingly, Gerry had coaxed a rusty, barked laugh from the stolid woman taking their order. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger found himself amused as Gerry alternated questions about the food with guileless-seeming appeals to the waitress’ experience. In bits and pieces, Gerry managed to find out that the waitress, Trudy, had been at the diner for fourteen years and could run the place herself, in her own estimation. Of course, she frowned, the owner’s son now managed it and, according to Trudy, he was a moron. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trudy went on to grudgingly reveal that the diner’s busiest time was between 7 and 8 AM when delivery trucks for the big-box stores rolled through. Gerry spent some time probing about the types of merchandise the truckers delivered, and the truckers themselves. Gerry then got her to admit that she recognized Ranger from earlier in the week, but that the only true “regular” in the diner right now was the man in the corner with the brown hunting coat who worked at the local True Value. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, with a slightly impatient look over her shoulder, Trudy divulged that by late afternoon, eggs were cooked fresh but sandwiches were pre-made from the cooler. With that, Gerry flashed a blinding, playful grin at the waitress and ordered fried eggs, over easy. The waitress snorted as she wrote his order, a cynical smirk on her face, and strode back to the swinging kitchen door. Ranger heard her shout their order to the fry cook, and then he glanced back at Gerry.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger eased back in the duct-taped vinyl seat, he reviewed Gerry’s approach to interrogating the waitress. Not exactly how Ranger would do it in this type of venue—and in fact not how Ranger approached it the other day when talking with Trudy—but not bad. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Interestingly, while Gerry hadn't been particularly self effacing, he had managed to keep the waitress focused on her own story more than his, and also to disguise his age. Though Gerry was in his mid thirties, Ranger would bet that Trudy would describe Gerry as a young twenty year old who was slumming it, probably looking for a hook-up of one manner or another. A ruse that also gave her a misdirection on who Ranger might be.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself: not bad, at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, ability to get information from a closed-mouthed waitress was one thing. Being able to glean information while tracking people unobtrusively was another. So, in the bubble of privacy while they waited for their food, Ranger asked Gerry what he’d found today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When they’d met this morning, Ranger had tasked Gerry to see if he could find Krc around Franklin Park and track his movements. Gerry pulled a well-used, pocket-sized notebook and opened to a page marked with a blue post-it. Glancing at his notes, Gerry proceeded to narrate how he’d tracked down Krc after meeting with Ranger, and then reeled off an itinerary of stops, including an apartment building, a pawn shop, a surplus store, and a couple of check-cashing shops.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry put down his notebook to pull out his cellphone. Peeking at the notebook across the table, Ranger could tell that Gerry’s writing was orderly and chronological. It also looked like it was largely in old-fashioned stenographic shorthand, which was an interesting talent that Ranger hadn’t expected. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry then turned his phone to Ranger, showing a shot of Krc eating a slice of pizza while talking outside of the convenience store with a thin, sharp-nosed man who Ranger didn’t recognize. Ranger asked Gerry to text the photo to his phone after Gerry commented that Krc had handed the thin stranger a packet at the end of their conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking closer at the picture, Ranger chuckled. Gerry might be short, but frankly it looked like Gerry had taken the picture from about navel level. As Ranger unconsciously held the phone at the angle he thought must have been used to take the picture, Gerry just laughed. Then he joked that people never suspect you’re taking pictures when you look like you’re trying not to drop your phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s skeptical glance, Gerry continued, “Hey Chief, it’s cool. People automatically discount short guys who look like spazzes, and also tourists. Check this out, from early afternoon. This was back by that Franklin Park spot you mentioned."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry smiled broadly and flipped forward to another picture on his phone. In this one, Gerry was wearing a U-Mass Amherst baseball hat and standing with an unusually tall blonde girl in University of Michigan attire in front of a statue of some revolutionary war figure. Gerry pointed out Krc in the background, in earnest conversation with a man in a worn plaid coat who Ranger could see was Amadeo Djaleo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spotting the leggy blonde woman standing next to Gerry in the picture, Ranger recalled Stephanie’s caution about Gerry and tall, light-haired distractions. At Ranger’s speculative glare, Gerry threw up his free hand. “Hey dude, no need to kill me with a glance. You’re paying me to follow the ugly scarred guy, Krc, so that’s what I did all day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As long as you have no confusion that I expect results for my money,” Ranger said in a low, level voice as he stared at Gerry, not blinking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, not a problem,” Gerry waved his free hand toward the phone. "Like they say, ‘it's all about the Benjamins,’ man. Getting paid to do what I do best. Livin’ the dream." Gerry flashed a toothy smile, “And dude, take a look. I know my camera angles. Because Kristin, here, is so much taller than me, her friend Bridget had to zoom out to get a full view. I knew she'd get your guys in the background based on where we were all standing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry snorted, a self-satisfied expression making his eyes sparkle. “So hey; what if I also got a choice photo and a phone number along the way? Can’t fault a guy for having a good work-life balance.” Gerry flashed a quick, clever smile Ranger’s way. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amused despite himself, Ranger nodded at Gerry, carefully keeping his face blank. After a brief pause, Ranger gestured briefly with his hand for the other man to continue the walk-through of his day tailing Krc. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, that was an obviously planned meeting between Krc and that other dude you’re following. Djaleo, right?" At Ranger's nod, Gerry continued, "Man, that dude was looking over his shoulder like every ten seconds, like he’d had way too many Red Bulls with his espresso. So, I couldn't take direct shots, but managed to get a few with him in these faux tourist pictures with Kristin and Bridget.” Gerry paused, a cagy look on his face. “I’ll send them to you, but remember that I call dibs on these lovely ladies.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled under his breath. “Not a problem.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, we’re cool then,” Gerry chuckled and pulled back the phone to scan forward a few more pictures. “This one’s a half hour later. I had to take it from inside a Starbucks from under a napkin, which is why the upper left corner is blacked out.” He showed the picture to Ranger, who took the phone and started zooming in. “They’d walked about a half mile by this point, but didn’t stop anywhere along the way. The guy getting into the taxi is that paranoid Djaleo dude. I made sure to get the taxi license plate so we could follow him later.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s nod, Gerry continued, “If you look closely, you can see that your man Krc is getting ready to walk away with the shopping bag that the other dude had been carrying. That’s where they did the switch. I followed the Krc dude for another couple of hours, and he never put the damned thing down, even when getting out his wallet and shit.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the waitress approaching in his periphery, Ranger casually pulled Gerry’s phone down under the table. After their food was delivered and Trudy had refilled Gerry’s coffee, Ranger handed the phone back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Gerry nodded and then took a bite. “Anyhow, I followed your man Krc all afternoon, after that. I almost lost him in the Save-A-Lot; good thing the guy has the personality of Lurch and has that scar, so people remember him.” Gerry took an enthusiastic slurp of coffee and then pulled out a folded piece of paper from the back of his notebook. “Here are all the addresses he stopped at and lists of what he bought, where I was able to find out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger took the page from Gerry and scanned down the list. He was pleased to see it was legible and organized. Nothing stood out from Krc’s purchases, but there were a couple of new addresses to check out. Interestingly, Krc had returned a couple times to one particular address. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What’s this place?” Ranger asked, pointing to the repeat address.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a doorway between a nail salon and a hole-in-the-wall Chinese gift shop,” Gerry answered. “It has only one doorbell and key, but has a bunch of utility lines running into a second story junction box, so I’m thinking it’s a no-tell rooming house.” Gerry picked his phone up. “I’ll text you the picture of that doorway, along with the other shots of interest.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Gerry typed on his phone, Ranger made his decision. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Gerry, like we discussed, we’ll start with $400 per day plus mileage and expenses,” Ranger said as he opened his wallet under the shadow of the table and pulled out a few bills. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger then pinned Gerry’s eyes, “But I need receipts and justification.” At Gerry’s nod, Ranger folded the money he’d pulled from his wallet and casually slid it behind the condiments tray and the dented napkin dispenser on Gerry’s side of the patterned Formica surface. “And my name is Ranger, not Chief.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, cool,” Gerry said as he casually leaned toward the napkin dispenser. “Need me to see if I can get into that rooming house later?” Gerry asked as he pulled the money from behind the dispenser with a quick pick-pocket’s move that only Ranger could have seen. “If so, that’s extra. Bigger risk, you understand.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand, and no I'm not asking you to break and enter,” Ranger asserted. “I’m not telling you to do anything illegal.” Ranger didn’t know or trust Gerry nearly enough to give him that discretion. “If you still can, see if you can track down where that taxi took the other guy, Djaleo, after he left Krc. He’s known to carry concealed, though, so don’t get too close.” Ranger reached behind himself for his coat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, sweaty and nervous man in an ugly plaid coat. He should be memorable,” Gerry smiled, pulling a non-descript ragg wool hat from his duffel. “Hey, I forgot to ask,” Gerry asked as he looked back up, “how do you know the Steph-meister?” Gerry stuffed the hat on his head as he looked at Ranger expectantly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt himself grow still, eyes narrowed on Gerry. “New Jersey,” he answered without inflection. “Knew her professionally.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh come on, big guy,” Gerry ignored Ranger’s glare. “Everyone has a story about how they met Stephanie. My old boss O’Malley was a private investigator, and met her at the JP station house. Way he told it, Steph was covered in spaghetti after having just ‘clotheslined’ some perp who’d gotten loose and ran into the business office right when she was having lunch. Apparently Stephanie just brushed some noodles out of her hair and shook O’Malley’s hand in greeting like it was no big deal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still glaring, Ranger chuckled internally as he imagined the scene. He had a quick, fond memory of plucking noodles from Stephanie’s face and hair, himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As for me,” Gerry continued as he stood up, “I met Steph after visiting my probation officer. I think she’d come to the office to talk about some jobs program, and overheard half of my session.” Gerry flashed an ironic, smug smile. “She could easily see my many excellent redeemable qualities.” Gerry barked out a laugh. “Anyhow, I guess she talked to my ‘proby’ and, to my surprise, Stephanie called me the next day and got me my first legit gig with a PI. That led to me working with old O’Malley for almost five years.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. That was his Babe, alright. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he stood up from the table, Ranger thought he'd kept his expression neutral. But perhaps he'd simply been silent too long because Gerry looked up and said, “Yeah, you got a story too. Someday maybe you’ll tell it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger turned away from Gerry’s knowing smile without replying. Really, he had no reason to answer Gerry. It was time to reinforce boundaries with the man. So, as he put down enough money for the bill and an ample tip, Ranger commented in a neutral tone, “Call me if you get an address for Djaleo after tracking down his taxi. Otherwise I’ll call you tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got it Chief,” Gerry answered brightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger just sighed to himself and buttoned his coat. He didn’t think Gerry was intentionally trying to annoy him. He just liked to push buttons and see what happened. The more Ranger reacted, the more Gerry would try. Thinking of his cousin Lester, Ranger reflected that he knew the type very well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Later,” Ranger answered and headed toward the door, leaving Gerry to exit in his own time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the diner’s door shut behind him, Ranger put on his watch cap and gloves in response to the light mist that had started since he’d gone inside. He folded his collar up around his neck as he walked past the metal-grated loading zone doorways and the alley lined with dumpsters. He stopped briefly and breathed in: the chill wind brought a slight brine smell from the ocean, overlaying the smells of the city.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Satisfied that nobody was following him, Ranger turned left on a side street and walked toward his truck. It was a relief, frankly, to have a vehicle that was fitted-out for him. His old friend Ignacio from Newark had done a good rush job retrofitting a used Ford Expedition, adding light undercarriage armor, tinted bullet-proof glass where possible, and adding weapons storage in the floor. With more time, Ignacio would have installed full armor on the truck and beefed up the suspension to carry the extra weight. This would do, though. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled to himself as he looked at the Massachusetts license plate and weathered-looking inspection stickers; Ignacio was also still the best at obtaining ‘spare’ plates with matching registrations and stickers. Shrugging as he opened the door and angled himself into the driver's seat, Ranger reflected that his brief adventure in boosting cars as a teenager had mostly been a fuck-up, but it had left him with some really good contacts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He started the engine and then pulled out his own notes from earlier today, adding Gerry’s list of locations and purchases to them. Waiting for the car to warm, he mentally reviewed how Gerry’s information meshed with his own. He was starting to see a pattern but it was just out of reach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reflected that, while he had several possible second-hand sightings of his own skip Figueroa, Ranger hadn’t seen the man since getting his ass handed to him in that goddamn Allston bodega. It wasn’t too unusual to have a target drop temporarily out of sight, though it was getting old.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stretched in his seat and wished he’d gotten a coffee to go. It had been a long day. After he left Stephanie and picked up his truck this morning, he’d met Gerry at Stephanie’s suggestion. Then he’d returned to her house for a few hours of sleep and a shower. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d also made a couple of well-placed calls, followed by hours of fast-forwarding through surveillance video from the liquor store he’d cased the other day, and then reviewing his own footage from Geary’s Pub. It was tedious as shit, but Ranger knew what he was looking for, so needed to do the work himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken a bit of faith to sit tight while sending Gerry off to tail Krc. Especially after Ranger had fast-forwarded far enough through his car-cam video to see Krc visiting Geary's Pub early this morning, probably around the same time Ranger was first meeting Gerry at the theater. But, Ranger did want eyes on Krc; right now, he seemed to be the go-between. And Gerry had shown a surprising amount of ability and resourcefulness in tailing the man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Frankly, it was a relief to have someone else who could handle some of the legwork. </span>
</p>
<p><span>And, it had been startlingly relaxing to spend time by himself, again, in Steph’s house. He was used to stopping in anonymous motels while on a long-term stake out, and to crashing wherever he could find a place while on the road. But he wasn’t used to the feeling</span> <span>of</span><em><span> home</span></em><span> that he experienced at Steph’s. He remembered how that feeling had knocked him off his ass when he’d spent time in Steph’s apartment in Trenton, but was the same here. And, it was different from the peace he felt in the clean lines of his SoHo loft. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>While Ranger reached forward, pulling against the seatbelt to turn on the heat in his truck, he wondered about that feeling of </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Perhaps it was because of the subtle reminders of her old apartment in Trenton. Perhaps it was being surrounded by the clutter of Stephanie’s family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which reminded him of what had been the most startling part of Ranger’s day. As he’d finished his mid-morning shower, still groggy, he’d taken the wrong door out of the bathroom and ended up in Stephanie’s bedroom. Though empty, it was full of her life, as though she would return in seconds and the room itself would resume breathing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had felt like time had briefly stopped as Ranger found himself enveloped in Stephanie’s personal mix of orderly chaos. Pillowcases that didn’t match, but which echoed the colors of her bedspread. Clothes left over a chair as they waited for the right day to be worn; shoes strewn in a heap together under a table; dry cleaning hanging in plastic bags from a hook outside the closet door; and jewelry overflowing a set of containers on her dresser. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was as though her brain, heart, and spirit had manifested themselves as a space within Stephanie’s home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had reminded Ranger of Stephanie’s hug from earlier in the morning, when she’d dropped him off to get his truck. He’d been momentarily unsure what to do. As he'd felt Stephanie lean into him, Ranger had felt enveloped by her in a way that seemed exquisitely right. And, for a breathtaking instant, he’d felt completely safe. Sheltered. As though they had briefly switched roles in that moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he'd also felt his cock twitch to attention, and his whole body had pulsed as though he’d been jump started. As his arms had wrapped around her and the perfume of her hair had swept across his face, Ranger had fought the urge to lean down and kiss her lips the way he would have in the past. He didn't want to endanger the trust that she was extending to him. And he wasn't sure if Stephanie would accept a kiss that had as much passion as he'd felt.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around Stephanie’s room, trying to clear his mind after his shower, Ranger had spotted a tattered stuffed bear he remembered from Stephanie’s bedroom at her parent’s house sitting on a high-school yearbook. He saw a stack of textbooks and police manuals. Finally he saw her mirrored vanity, with an orderly row of nearly empty perfume bottles, mixed with seashells and a snow globe, forming a base for a wreath of pictures stuck at all angles around the mirror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had been drawn into the room, unaware that he’d walked over to the vanity until he found himself touching the edge of one of the pictures. It was Steph as a girl on the boardwalk at Point Pleasant with her parents and young Val. The smile on Stephanie’s face was a youthful version of the luminous mixture of joy, mischief and irony that had captivated Ranger when he’d first met Stephanie. Ranger had chuckled as he saw that Val was glaring at Stephanie in the picture, while their mother Helen had her patented “why me” expression under a somewhat ridiculous floral sunhat. Frank was looking the other direction, his eyes unfocused in the distance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a picture of young Stephanie and her Grandma Mazur dressed up in Ghostbusters outfits for Halloween that made Ranger laugh out loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From there, Ranger saw a photo of Val holding a baby, with Albert holding a toddler next to Angie and Mary Alice, who were the skinny, awkward girls who Ranger remembered. With all four girls, it must have been taken right after Sarah was born, shortly before the car crash. Ranger had felt a spasm of sorrow, wishing he could have done something to help. But then, the moment was eased, as Stephanie must have intended, by the series of photos showing the girls growing up. School pictures, casual shots, year-after-year; they overlaid each other in interlocking profusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the final picture on the other side of the mirror had taken all of Ranger's attention. It was an old black-and white of a beautiful young woman, probably just out of high school with an impish, full-of-life smile. She'd gazed out of the picture as though staring right at Ranger, a knowing tilt to her brow. Waiting for Ranger to recognize her. She looked like Lisa, sent back through time to grow up in a different era, or like Stephanie with rounder features, straight hair and retro makeup. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had felt his breath stop in his chest as he’d realized it must have been Stephanie's Grandma Mazur as a young woman. Somehow he'd never imagined her young. It was as though time had stopped. He wasn’t sure how long he’d stared at the picture, trying to force his brain to reconcile the image of this assured young woman from the past with the half-crazed elderly woman he remembered, with her dentured grin and her roaming fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd finally broken off his gaze after noticing his own face in the mirror next to Grandma Mazur's picture. Suddenly it was as though he'd seen the dark, lean face of his Abuelo Santos staring back at him, his own mother's devoted and shrewd </span>
  <em>
    <span>guajiro</span>
  </em>
  <span>, peasant father in league with the elfin, pale woman on Stephanie's mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d backed out of Stephanie’s room, returning to the den where his clothes were. Calling on his Army Rangers training and his own self-discipline, Ranger had re-grounded himself in the tasks he needed to accomplish. Identify target, aim, and fire. And he’d hit every mark he’d set for the day, thus far. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yet the memory was still following him, hours later. Sitting in his truck after leaving Gerry, Ranger still felt the unreal pulse of that moment in Stephanie’s room. He could almost see the youthful eyes of young Abuelo Santos and Stephanie’s Grandma Mazur watching him through the mist outside, waiting to see what he’d do next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Ranger decided that he clearly needed to get more sleep. Something to put on the list.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Getting Focus</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 17: Getting Focus</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he sat in his truck down the street from the diner where he’d left Gerry, Ranger put away his notes, clear on what he needed to do next. As the gunmetal sky shaded toward the overcast of evening, it was getting dark enough for Ranger to put his more stealthy talents to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As his first order of business, Ranger pulled out of the parking spot and headed toward Geary’s pub. He wanted to re-set his microphones, since last night’s audio had failed to pick up anything of interest in the rooms he’d targeted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, he’d head over to the address where Gerry had seen Krc earlier today. Ranger might be able to sneak into the rooming house to look around to see if he could verify the room where Krc had visited. If nothing else, he would see if he could pick up Krc’s trail from there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realizing that he had another long night ahead of him, Ranger selected Stephanie’s number from the car’s phone menu, which he’d synced with his cell phone first thing this morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” he heard Stephanie’s arch response to his call over the car’s speakers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo yourself,” Ranger chuckled in reply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, how’s your badass image holding up, now that you have a shiny new car with both heat and legroom?” Stephanie joked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Surprisingly well,” Ranger deadpanned. “Though I did have to buy some new band-aids since I used everything except the Little Mermaid ones in your bathroom, which I didn’t think would send the right signal if it came to a fight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie burst out laughing, the warm sound filling his car. “Ranger, the Little Mermaid is so disappointed that she didn’t get to join you on a stakeout today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry, Steph, she would have been bored.” Ranger slowed for a red light. “Actually, she would’ve spent about half the day watching surveillance tapes in your living room, doing crunches and pushups to keep it interesting, followed by the aforementioned boring stakeouts.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Ranger, I’d forgotten how many hours you spent on surveillance back in Trenton. Did you find out anything new?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not really,” Ranger exhaled. “Figueroa seems to have gone-to-ground; I’m not seeing him anywhere. I get sightings of the other men I’ve been tracking: Djaleo, Aburek, and Krc. By the way, Steph, you might pass along an anonymous tip that the guy Fennelly the BPD is tracing may have paid an after-hours visit to Geary’s Pub last night. And Morelli might want to know that Krc went there early this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I'll pass all that on. By the way, Ranger, have you figured out yet what connects all these guys together? I mean, the real world isn’t like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Get Smart</span>
  </em>
  <span> where the bad guys all over the world know each other and make up evil clubs where they can hang out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Beats me, Steph. It’s one of the things I’ve been trying to figure out. You’re the one who spotted that Krc probably met Figueroa in Galveston. And I know that Djaleo and Aburek might have met in Minneapolis. Then they cross paths in different combinations in Portland Maine, in Fall River, and now Boston. But if I knew what tied them together in the first place, I’d be able to root them all out at once.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, maybe they do have an evil club: I can look on the Internet for ‘International Brotherhood of Bad Guys’ and see what I find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea, Babe,” Ranger chuckled and then dryly added, “I gather you have extra time on your hands today?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, it’s just the end of the day when things are winding down. Oh, by the way, tonight is pizza night at home, if you have time to join us. I get back late because we have yoga in the precinct breakroom, so I get carryout on the way. Should I get a small whole-wheat crust pizza for you, with extra bark and twigs on it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“As tempting as that sounds,” Ranger answered over Stephanie’s low giggle, “I’m going to have to take a raincheck. I’ll be back late again, tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh well, there are usually leftovers in the fridge, so help yourself.” She paused, then added with a smile in her voice, “Pizza: it’s not just for breakfast anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking back to his conversation with Stephanie’s friend Janice this morning, Ranger casually asked, “So, you do yoga these days? Anything else, like t’ai chi?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just yoga, but I really like it.” She paused, then added, “I used to do t’ai chi on Thursdays, but the guy who taught that left town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Striving for an offhand tone, Ranger commented, “I do t’ai chi. If you'd like to practice while I’m here, I'd be happy to join you." Ranger tapped the truck’s accelerator, moving forward as the intersection’s light turned green. "In fact I did a short form Chen-style t'ai chi in your living room today along with the crunches and pushups.” His attention drawn into a quick scan for tails, Ranger added half-to-himself, “I think I put all your furniture back in the right places. But, Babe, your vacuum is crap.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I know,” Stephanie answered vaguely, and then sputtered, “Wait. What? You vacuumed my house? Since when is that part of t’ai chi?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt the corners of his lips rise in amusement. “I just did the living room. It needed it after I moved the furniture.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a notable pause on the line, while Ranger wondered if the call had dropped. Just as he was on the verge of checking to see if the line was still connected, he heard Stephanie’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie began, “you know that if I’m ever a guest in your house, I’m not going to clean your place or fix your appliances. I hope that’s okay.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger chuckled as he consulted the GPS in his car to double-check his route, “you </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> stayed in my apartment, back in Trenton, so I already know that.” Still amused, he continued, “From what I recall, you do things like supply movies I’ve never seen before, help me remember that I like to talk sometimes, and make me question my assumptions. That’s more useful to me than vacuuming, which I can do myself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking about it, Ranger also remembered how she’d lit up his kitchen when she smiled, how she’d made him feel fully alive when they kissed, and how she’d quelled his nightmares when she slept in his arms. But those were things to be said in-person. If the time was right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger squared his jaw. </span>
  <em>
    <span>When</span>
  </em>
  <span> the time was right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger continued his original comment with a shrug, “As for me: when I visit, I repair appliances and make sure the bunk house is tidy in case of inspections.” Ranger chuckled again, this time at himself. He remembered how Stephanie and his housekeeper Ella had complained about the ingrained sterility of his Trenton apartment. His Babe would probably say the same thing about his loft in New York. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed softly along with him. “Well, Ranger, I guess you make me question my assumptions, too, and that’s a good thing. And, well… uh, thank you for vacuuming the living room. And that is </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> a phrase I ever imagined saying to you.” She laughed again, and Ranger thought about how much he’d missed hearing that sound over the years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, Ranger, by the way. Mary Alice asked if she could leave a draft History essay for you to read. She says you agreed already, but I’ll break it to her if you’re too busy.” Ranger heard Stephanie’s amused snort before she added, “Or, if Mary Alice is kinda exaggerating and you never promised her that you’d read her paper.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Steph, that’s fine. We talked about it the other day. Tell her to leave it on the kitchen table with my name on it and I’ll be happy to read it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Ranger,” Stephanie’s voice took on a low, thoughtful tone that made Ranger feel as though she was next to him in the car, staring at him with the speculative look she had when her instincts were in conflict. “You know, Ranger, Mary Alice really thinks highly of you. Lisa and Sarah too. You’ve made a real impression with them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself, remembering something Stephanie’s friend Janice had revealed to him this morning. “They’re good kids, Steph.” Ranger inhaled, then added, “I’ll do my best to live up to that impression.” Ranger had learned with his own daughter how fragile hopes could be. And having fucked it up once already, having disappeared from his Babe's life when she perhaps had most needed him, he'd already vowed he'd do the right thing for Stephanie's family going forward, as best he could.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the silence, while Ranger imagined Stephanie was evaluating his words, Ranger tried to help her know he was serious. “Steph, I’ll listen to you if you tell me I’m not.” Then, as the silence continued to stretch, Ranger considered that this topic might be triggering difficult memories. So he tried to lighten the moment. "And Steph, you have my phone number now. You have the opportunity to tell me 24/7 if I screw up." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a softly huffed laugh, Stephanie answered, "Thanks Ranger. I know you always try to do the right thing." Ranger knew it was a formulaic answer, yet he also knew that Stephanie believed it was true. As a moral compass, though, Ranger knew from experience that ‘doing what was right’ was not always as straightforward as he’d like. Ranger needed to figure out what was the right thing, in this new, uncharted situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After some muffled sounds in the background, Stephanie said, "Hey Ranger, I'm sorry, but I need to go. Janice just handed me something that I have to read and sign off before shift end. But, thank you for calling me, I really appreciate it."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"My pleasure Steph," he answered. "Talk to you later," Ranger added as he cut the call, amused as he imagined his Babe doing her trademarked eye roll at his phone manners. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he scanned the street ahead, Ranger's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Janice while waiting in Steph's cube this morning. With eyes glittering, Janice had leaned over the cube wall as soon as Stephanie had followed her boss Ryan into his office. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You're the guy from that picture," Janice had teased in a husky voice, "we always wondered where Stephie was hiding </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Reflexively, Ranger had looked at Stephanie's cube wall, his eyes drawn like a magnet to a Rangeman group photo. Surprised, Ranger recognized that it was from the distraction at the Roxy outside of Philadelphia. It was the first big-money distraction for which Ranger had recruited Stephanie, and she’d delivered beyond even Ranger’s expectations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger hadn’t known there were any photos from that job. Ranger had remembered the short, provocative black dress Stephanie had worn, and the stilettos that had shaped her legs into temptations no man in the club had been able to ignore. Just looking at the picture while Janice spoke, Ranger had felt his pants getting tight. How the fuck had he been able to watch her return to Morelli, job after job, when she'd looked like that? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His attention had been distracted by Janice’s interjected, "Oh wait." As he looked up, Janice had rushed to say, "Oh yeah. You're in that one." Janice had pointed down to the one Ranger had been studying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had already noticed the fade-out pattern on the cube's cloth wall, and deduced that Steph seemed to have rearranged her pictures recently. He'd been more interested in scanning the other photos, though, at that moment. He ignored the older pictures—probably from college jobs and E.E. Martin—focusing on the ones that gave him a glimpse into her life between Rangeman and now. He pointed to what looked like a holiday party picture with both Steph and Janice and a handsome, fit man with an arm around his Babe's waist.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“When was that taken?” Ranger had asked blandly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, that was the holiday party at the country club where I used to work, about five years ago I think.” Janice had looked up, a bright yet calculating look on her face. “That’s me and Stephie, and Brian of course.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Ranger had nodded, knowing that Janice was planning to fish for information. Well, she’d just met a master at that game, Ranger had thought as he tilted his head with an amused expression. “So I forget: you were the one who introduced Steph to Brian, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, you know the story,” Janice had leaned forward with a sparkle in her eyes, her arms resting on the cube divider. “Back when I first started here, I used to drag Stephie to the country club where I used to work so we could meet people, have fun; you know how us single gals are.” Janice winked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger remained silent, but tilted his lips in an encouraging, brief smile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhoo,” Janice said, settling in, “I knew Brian from when I worked at the club. He’s a financial advisor for a high-end firm, so he used to come to our events because his clients and contacts were members. He didn’t really stay to golf or anything; he was more a gym guy. In fact, I think that might’ve been one of the years when he competed in the Ironman competition. Did pretty good too,” Janice had said with an ironic expression that Ranger couldn't read. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd momentarily wondered if Brian had been cause for rivalry between Janice and Stephanie. But one glance at the mementoes arranged in Janice’s cube, and Ranger had already known that she liked men who took her to events with music, champagne, and dancing. Someone who’d be impatient with a man who spent a lot of his free time in a gym. Ranger had heard that enough about himself to recognize the scenario.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So he’d felt a momentary twinge of something like jealousy when Janice had revealed that Stephanie had accompanied Brian to the gym on Saturday afternoons and that he’d taught her t’ai chi. And that further, Stephanie had grown to like the elliptical machine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Ranger had asked, taken aback. Ranger remembered Stephanie's half-hearted interest when he’d had tried to include her into his morning exercise routine. “Did they jog together or anything like that?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh gawd no,” Janice had drawled. “You should know better than that: Stephie absolutely hates jogging. Which is funny because I guess she was a skip rope champion in middle school, and then a baton twirler. But a runner? Big no, there, mister.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Ranger considered that he’d never asked whether Stephanie actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>liked</span>
  </em>
  <span> to run, Janice had leaned closer. “But, you know, people who want to be together figure out what they can try or let go to make it happen. It takes awhile to figure out, but sometimes you find the best parts of yourself unexpectedly that way.” Janice looked down, and Ranger had a feeling she was remembering something personal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he had a chance to reply, Janice looked back up and frowned. “But you know: even if it was fun while it lasted—and even if Brian did help Stephie get good with money—I never would’ve introduced them if I’d known the big idiot would just up and leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice barely took a breath before continuing, her Boston accent having gotten thicker as she worked up a head of steam. “I mean, can you imagine? He goes out with her for over a year to the point where Stephie’s thinking ‘this is it’ and he gets close with her kids. And then one day, </span>
  <em>
    <span>hello</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he decides, ‘Hey I’m going to Albuquerque because I’ll get a promotion.’ I mean, do you believe that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice shook her head disdainfully. “Okay sure, his company moved his job there, but I know for a fact Brian could have gotten a different job here in Boston. For chrissakes, there are like a zillion investment companies in town and the guy graduated from Harvard. I can’t even imagine how totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>bullshit</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephie was. I mean, even I was wicked angry when she told me that, and I wasn’t dating him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice’s phone started to ring as she pronounced disdainfully, “What a loser.” She backed up to look at her phone, muttering, “Stephie’s better off without him. That’s my story, and I’m sticking to it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shifted slightly in his chair as Janice retreated into her cube to take her call. He could hear the energetic, low rasp of her voice, though he didn’t listen to the words. He wondered if Janice would think her friend Stephie was better off without Ranger, too. Well, Ranger was smart enough to know that was for Stephanie to decide, not Janice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not him, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the brief moment while nobody was watching, Ranger had continued his inspection. Leaning forward, he’d quietly opened Steph’s desk and cabinet drawers one by one, just far enough to see inside. Finally finding the one with a box of TastiKakes, his eyes had glimmered with victory. Silently picking up the Butterscotch Krimpets box with one hand, Ranger slid out the folder that was underneath. The word "private" was written on the tab. Ah, that was his Babe: all things precious, hidden together.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching the office in his periphery, Ranger had pulled back the cover of the folder. Inside he'd seen a 5x8 photo with tiny pinholes in each corner, and it was though time had collapsed and dropped him into his Rangeman office. He'd had this same picture locked away in his top drawer in Trenton; now it sat in a trunk in his storage locker along with so many other reminders of his past. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Transfixed while Janice's voice had murmured along with other sounds in the background, Ranger had gazed down at a younger version of himself leaning against his black SUV. His youthful alter-ego was gazing down with a cocky, satisfied grin on his face at Steph, who stood loosely wrapped in his arms. Her wild hair and red T-shirt contrasted with his all-black attire and the visible shoulder holster peeking out of his windbreaker. With the distance of time, Ranger could tell that he and Steph had only had eyes for each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slipping the photo back into the folder, he'd placed it back under the TastiKakes carton in the same angle as before, and slid the drawer closed silently as he heard Steph’s unmistakable footsteps return to her cube. He'd blanked his expression as he considered that she must have recently hidden this photo. And as he’d pondered that she had it in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, in the waning of the day, Ranger stopped to puzzle over the fact that Hector had been the one who’d given Stephanie pictures from Rangeman. Pictures to remind her of her time there. To remind her of Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he slid into a littered parking space in the fading light of late afternoon, a few blocks from Geary's Pub, Ranger grimaced. He’d never thought to ask Hector anything about Trenton. Ranger had simply assumed that, of all his former men, Hector was the least likely to be connected to Steph in any meaningful way. After all, Hector was one of the few Rangemen who Steph had found intimidating. Which was saying a lot, given the hard men that Ranger and Tank had assembled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, suddenly Ranger had context for an evening a few years ago with Hector in the back of a dusty bar in the lower East Side. They'd been tossing back Jagermeister shots after a successful yet unsatisfying job, in which they’d both needed to improvise at the last minute. Notably, Ranger had needed to distract an unsuspecting, fresh-eyed and curly-haired receptionist while Hector had snuck into the back office to pull some incriminating files from a computer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Later that night in the bar, Hector found out that Ranger had kept the young woman's phone number. Hector had shook his head and muttered that he was glad that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> wasn't Ranger's type. Then, in a louder voice, Hector had added that he’d already seen that Ranger would be a one-night-stand kind of lover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laughing at Ranger's no-doubt perplexed expression, Hector had downed another shot and pointed his finger at Ranger, half-slurring that Ranger had become a player like his </span>
  <em>
    <span>pinguero</span>
  </em>
  <span> man-whore cousin Lester. Hector had continued—never lacking for courage and buoyed by a few too many shots—telling Ranger that all of his noble pronouncements of protecting people by keeping his distance were shit. As Ranger had felt his anger rise, Hector had pointed his finger again, growling that Ranger really just protected himself that way, and the ones who loved him got hurt anyway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hector had tossed back another quick shot and, with a dark scowl, he’d snarled that it was easier to walk away from everyone who cared than to be the ones who were left behind without knowing why. Then he’d slammed his shot glass on the table, stood up, and stalked a weaving path out of the bar.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger remembered sitting in the bar, feeling the fire of his indignation ignite at Hector's words. Hector had the goddamn nerve to think Ranger was like his cousin Lester, who wouldn’t even have considered marrying Rachel if he’d been the man to get her pregnant. Hector thought it was easy for Ranger to sacrifice his pride and years worth of effort when he left Rangeman, a company he'd founded and partly named after himself. Hector thought Ranger was a coward for doing what was necessary, despite the cost. What had Hector ever sacrificed to save others?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that thought, Ranger had stepped back, forcing himself to be honest. Hector was one of the bravest and uncompromising men that Ranger knew. He would defend what he believed was right with his entire self. And Ranger had seen him do so, willing to put everything on the line, sometimes at Ranger's defense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Furthermore, Hector was like Tank: they were among the few people who always told Ranger what they really thought, regardless of his reaction. More sobering, when either of them pounded Ranger—with either words or fists—there was an underlying truth that Ranger needed to hear. Ranger had therefore taken his temper in rein, and had let the whole conversation slide the next time he’d spoken with Hector. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, he thought with impatience, he’d managed to totally avoid Hector’s remarks until now. But he should have paid attention. One of the benefits of working with Hector was that Ranger never had to spend time talking about sex or hookups, male or female. Never had to reflect on relationships or lack thereof. Never had to swing it, never had to brag, never had to justify.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Hector calling him out should have gotten every bit of his attention. Along with his mumbled comment that Ranger was happier giving his ladies security systems than giving them the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> security of being with him. Too full of alcohol and angry at the time, Ranger hadn't recalled that Hector had installed Steph's alarm system after Ranger’s one-night-stand in her apartment. Ranger just hadn’t put it all together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should have remembered that Hector was the one man who saw everything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger scowled: memory was a goddamn bitch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he watched the heavy Boston mist outside of his truck soften the lines of the city and saw the streetlights come on, Ranger acknowledged that Hector hadn't been nearly as wrong as Ranger had thought at the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, maybe memory was the bitch that kept him honest, Ranger thought grudgingly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seditiously, Ranger's memory had wrapped Stephanie close, protecting her even from himself through the years he’d been angrily determined to leave Trenton behind him. Moments and feelings he'd buried years ago turned out to be right below the surface, called up into the present by a look on Stephanie's face, the sound of her voice, a comment from one of her friends, or a photograph.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Memory had waited as patiently as a panther at dusk. Waiting until the moment was right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger steepled his hands in front of him. What his memories were telling him was that he had been a stubborn asshole for years. Of course he already knew that, and those closest to him would be happy to remind him should he try to deny it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His memories also clarified that, from the very beginning, Stephanie had held a fascination for him. She had intrigued him despite his determination to avoid any further emotional entanglements. Despite Stephanie's own significant issues and inability to commit. They had shared a longing that kept pulling them together. Animal magnetism perhaps; but there was more. Over the past few days he'd felt it again as strong as the urge to breathe while drowning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He realized he truly wished he was ending this evening with Stephanie, eating pizza with her family, listening to them skirmish over homework, and finally watching TV with Stephanie in his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What startled Ranger was that he felt ready for that. He'd spent the past several years settling the demons of his life and closing himself from the depth of feelings that had no outlet. He'd forgotten what it felt like when desire grounded in the warmth of belonging. When the aching drive of his cock was matched by the burgeoning fire in his heart. When it was all wrapped in a sense of tender anticipation; the urge to share himself along with his body. When it felt safe to do so. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a long time. Hell, he couldn’t remember how long, if ever.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a low chuckle, Ranger also wished like hell that he knew he'd be in town long enough to take his Babe out in that blue dress that Janice had mentioned earlier today. He longed to see the woman she'd become, with her mature feminine form and long legs, dressed for him. And dammit, Ranger thought as he shifted in his seat, he was a man. He wanted to see her undressed and feel those long legs tight around him, as well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the pieces came together in Ranger’s mind, and he felt his lips lift in an ironic smile. He’d always known the answer: he just hadn’t been ready before. The feeling was there, running like a current under his skin when he was in Stephanie’s house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In Trenton he'd been complacent, cocksure: always certain that a relationship between them was Stephanie's move to make. That his strength and unmistakable abilities would inevitably draw her to him and into his life, assuming it was meant to be. Ranger laughed internally at his youthful arrogance: he hadn’t even thought beyond his reliance on being handsome, being able to make a woman hot for him, and knowing he could show her a very good time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It figured that the one woman who’d managed to sneak under his defenses wouldn’t find his surface, macho bravado to be quite enough of a draw. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself: he should have known at the moment when he’d realized he felt truly at home in Steph’s crappy, insecure Trenton apartment. Stephanie, </span>
  <em>
    <span>herself</span>
  </em>
  <span>, made his hardened, walled-off heart feel at home. The bone-deep satisfaction he remembered feeling whenever she'd come to him for protection—whenever he'd rescued her and held her in his arms—wasn't because he’d been a goddamn hero yet again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was that he'd been a hero for her. It was that his Babe was in his arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps it was because of the time in Stephanie’s room earlier in the day, but in his mind’s eye Ranger saw his Abuelo Santos watching him. The man’s weathered, brown face was lit by his habitual kindness as they sat quietly on the back porch in the New Jersey evening, while ten-year-old Ricardo Mañoso held a bag of frozen peas to yet another black eye he’d gotten after school. Ranger couldn’t even remember anymore what he’d gotten beaten up for, that time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What he remembered was when his abuelo started to speak. In his gravelly, peasant Spanish, the old man had told Ranger, “The fact that boys and men beat each other up is not significant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi nieto</span>
  </em>
  <span>, my grandson. You can see from Cain and Abel that we men have fought since the very beginning. It is in our bones, in our balls.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d looked into the distance. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Nieto</span>
  </em>
  <span>, understand that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>why</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fight that defines you. These boys in this barrio, they pick fights to stop feeling small and useless, but not for anything or anyone else. It means they truly are as small and useless as they fear, and it’s how they will end up their lives. You, on the other hand, fight to defend yourself, to protect yourself and your sisters. You are already greater than those </span>
  <em>
    <span>pollinos</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those idiots.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man had smiled then and looked directly at his grandson, Ranger. “Actually, as you become a man, you will find out that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fight for that truly counts. As for me, Ricardo Santos Masó, I have always fought for my family, for my wife who holds me in her heart and fights for </span>
  <em>
    <span>me </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a warrior queen. And I fight for my children who all moved from little Havana to this cold northern place. And for you my </span>
  <em>
    <span>nieto</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s grandfather had reached out a knobby, work-stained hand and pushed Ranger’s straight hair back from his forehead. His straight dark hair, which looked just like his grandfather’s, only without the liberal streaks of gray. “You, my young fighter, will find your own reasons. But when you find who you are willing to fight for, Ricardo </span>
  <em>
    <span>mio</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you must be ready </span>
  <em>
    <span>carne y hueso</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do the right thing.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d then patted Ranger on the knee before standing. “And remember, </span>
  <em>
    <span>nieto</span>
  </em>
  <span>, you should not always fight with your fists. That is for weak men. A true man can fight even better with his heart and soul, with his labor and his love. With all that was given us when </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Señor</span>
  </em>
  <span> made us in his image.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s grandfather had gone inside then, ending Ranger’s memory of that particular evening of his childhood. But, not for the first time, Ranger wished his Abuelo Santos had lived longer. His abuelo was one of the wisest men Ranger had known, even though he’d only managed to get through the sixth grade before having to go work in the tobacco fields, and then escape on a leaky fishing boat to a land where he didn’t speak the language.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked out through the windshield at the thickening fog of the evening. He’d always thought it was enough that, as a man, he’d chosen to fight for his country, for those under his command, and for what he saw as morally right. And, goddammit, he’d fought to save Stephanie’s life several times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused at that moment, wondering why he felt such a flare of anger when he thought about it. Because, as he faced the memory of his Abuelo Santos’ words, Ranger acknowledged that he’d never fought to keep Stephanie in his life. He’d never fought to keep anyone close, not even his daughter Julie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, he’d willingly give anything, including his life, to keep both of them safe. But then they’d go home to where they belonged, and he’d… what? Turn his mind to his next mission? Go to the gym and pound his bleeding knuckles on the heavybag? Challenge other hard men to spar on the mats, like when he was back at Rangeman? Go out for a drink somewhere dark where he could be anonymous? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, as he watched the halo of a car’s lights approach and then glide past in the fog outside, Ranger flashed on the memory of how bewildered he’d been, days ago. How confused he’d been when Stephanie had unquestioningly invited him into her home, and into this new life she’d made. And how at home he felt there. How he was able to sleep soundly for the first time in weeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger gripped the steering wheel and inhaled. Perhaps, he thought, he was finally ready to fight with his heart and soul, with his labor and love. To finally fight his way </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>—to where maybe it was safe to live entangled with others. Where he could say that what he gave had “no cost” precisely because he knew he was choosing to give all he could of himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And perhaps Stephanie was ready for someone like Ranger to come home to her, without her skittish instincts telling her to protect herself, to flee. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps they had both already started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger took another deep breath. In the meantime, he had a job to finish. First order of business tonight: adjust the microphones in Geary's Pub. Ranger wrestled off his coat and pulled on the jacket and hat he'd worn last night at the pub. He leaned down to grab his pocket-sized mesh bag of electronics and then angled himself out of his truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pressed his key fob once to silently lock his truck. He then slipped like a solid shadow into the mist of the evening.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Another New Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 18: Another New Day</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was something about waking to the aroma of fresh baked, still warm donuts that infused the entire day with the promise of goodness. It was almost possible to taste the rich yet delicate flavor—to almost </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>the doughy softness of the first bite—from the combined sweet, fried, frosted scent. And, regardless of the weather, it was possible to feel sunshine in the high note of melted sugar that permeated the air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sensation reminded Stephanie of birthdays when she was a child. Back then, her Grandpa Mazur would start the day by delivering a fresh bag of baked goods from Gabor’s #1 Bakery before work. It was a special trip—a pilgrimage across the river to Morrisville—made specially that morning for whichever of his girls was lucky enough to have a birthday that day. The man hardly ever spoke out-loud, though he did know the language of food.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, you could get regular donuts anytime from Tasty Pastry or even the baked goods section of ShopRite. You could even get birthday cake any day of the week, especially if you didn't mind that its box had obviously been squashed or that a stranger's name was frosted on top. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But starting the day with warm drizzled donuts and sugar-topped Bismarck cakes from Gabor's was like getting your own special delivery from heaven. Well, from the ever-shrinking part of heaven that specialized in deep-fat-fried food. The part of heaven that Grandpa Mazur no doubt inhabited. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which was why Stephanie had awoken confused this morning, with a feeling of deep contentment mixed with a half-dreamed sense that it was her birthday. But that couldn't be right, she'd realized as she'd drifted closer to waking, since her birthday had been a few weeks ago. Yet, nevertheless, as she opened her eyes to look at her clock, she had been certain that she could smell a waft of fresh donuts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which had made no sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she’d swung out of bed, put on her robe and slippers, and groggily made her way down the hallway to the kitchen. Where, on the counter, she’d found a string-wrapped white box labeled "Anna’s Hand Cut Donuts." She knew the donut shop; it was about a fifteen minute drive away, though the opposite direction from anywhere other than Mary Alice’s high school. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still in a bit of a daze, she'd walked closer. Tucked in front of the box, Stephanie saw a note in Ranger's neat, square handwriting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>"Good morning Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>," it had said. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>Spotted this donut shop on my way back this morning. Hope I remembered which ones you like. I would've made coffee to go with, but I wasn't sure when you get up. I'll call later and check in, after I get some sleep. PS: Gerry seems helpful, thanks."</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had stared at the note for a few moments, waiting for her brain to catch up. She'd been able to tell that Ranger was in the house: she could feel it, the way she'd always been able to sense him. And, as she'd thought about it, she'd seen the closed guest room door when she'd made her way to the kitchen just now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She'd slowly reached out to open the box of donuts. It wasn't oven-warm, but as she pulled the lid up she could tell that the contents were light and fresh. She inhaled: only a couple of hours since they'd been baked, at the most. She'd reached in, pulling out a Boston Creme. Underneath, she'd seen a couple more of those, plus an assortment of glazed and sprinkled donuts. From the scent, at least a few were chocolate filled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh, Ranger definitely had remembered which donuts she liked, Stephanie had smiled as she took a bite into her donut. The taste and sensation hit all at once, and she'd stood, transfixed, moaning to herself. It was true after all: powdered sugar really was pixie dust.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Whoa, Anna's donuts!" Mary Alice's half-whisper snuck up behind her, bringing Stephanie back to planet Earth. "Ranger must have brought those." Mary Alice reached across Stephanie for a donut. "Geez, he was out late. Or up super-early. They're only open from 4:30 in the morning to 1:00 in the afternoon, and by then the donut vultures and high-school pastry </span>
  <em>
    <span>jawas</span>
  </em>
  <span> have picked the racks clean." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Pastry whatsits?" Stephanie had repeated slowly, thinking maybe she was still half asleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah you know,” Mary Alice had smiled as she opened the fridge. "Pastry </span>
  <em>
    <span>jawas</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Those little Star Wars guys with scruffy brown robes and shiny eyes that scavenge robot parts and steal all the good snacks so those of us in the Rebel Alliance have to make do with what's in the vending machine."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Opening the cabinet for plates, Stephanie had mumbled, "I can't decide which I wish for more: that you woke up groggy like I do, or that Grandma and Grandpa Kloughn hadn’t given you the full Star Wars DVD set for your birthday."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice had turned a bright, mischievous smile her way as she put a carton of milk on the counter. "Or I could wake up with an </span>
  <em>
    <span>attitude</span>
  </em>
  <span> and come downstairs with a bulleted to-do list for the day, like Angie." Before Stephanie had been able to admonish Mary Alice, the girl had asked casually, "So, speaking of people sleeping, are we having breakfast in the kitchen, or is Ranger still catching 'Z's in the guest room this morning?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Ranger is sleeping so we'll eat in the dining room." Stephanie had pulled out the tray for carrying dishes and silverware. Then she'd walked over to the coffee maker, finally giving into the long overdue urge for a caffeine jumpstart. She'd need it, with all three girls about to be downstairs for breakfast.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay, dining room it is," Mary Alice had answered. "Mmm, that's a good donut, and chocolate filled," she'd stage whispered around a mouthful of pastry. "I'll bring the box into the dining room, along with the pop-tarts." Then, in a sing-song whisper she'd added, "Hey, what's this?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had turned back just in time to see Mary Alice waving Ranger's note. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oooh, Ranger called you </span>
  <em>
    <span>Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>." Mary Alice had flashed a brash smile, completely deflecting Stephanie's glare. Backing up as Stephanie came toward her, she continued, "</span>
  <em>
    <span>And</span>
  </em>
  <span> he brought home donuts." Mary Alice dodged, pulling the note behind her as Stephanie reached for it. "He followed you home, Mom: can we keep him?" Mary Alice asked with big eyes, and then giggled as she handed the note to Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mary Alice," Stephanie had scolded as she rolled Ranger's note and whacked the girl lightly on her shoulder. Seeing Mary Alice’s knowing smile, Stephanie stopped to admonish, "Ranger isn't a pet or a mascot. He's a grown man with a dangerous job and a life of his own in New York." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had then picked up the tray she'd loaded and headed toward the dining room. "In any case," she’d added over her back, "Ranger is our guest, so be respectful."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had heard Mary Alice's quiet voice trailing her. "But Mom, you know I was just kidding. It's just, well, I think Ranger's an interesting person. He's nice, and I like him."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Stephanie had put down her tray and turned. "I know. But Mary Alice, I haven’t seen Ranger for seven years. Seven whole years. Just because he’s staying here this week doesn’t mean he’s back in our lives." Seeing Mary Alice frown, Stephanie had reached out and gently brushed back a wavy lock of hair that had fallen across her daughter's face. "I'm glad that you like him, though. He likes you too, I can tell. He's a good man."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Mary Alice had sighed. “It would just be nice if he could be with us more, now that he's come back.” She'd looked at Stephanie, her brown-flecked eyes level with Stephanie's cornflower blue gaze. "And, I don't know why, but he seems kinda lonely. I hope he knows we're his friends."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh sweetie," Stephanie had reached out and pulled Mary Alice into her arms. "I know he does. Ranger's very proud and he wouldn't stay with us if he didn't feel welcome." She'd leaned back to smile at Mary Alice. "And, I know for a fact that Ranger doesn't eat donuts, so he bought them especially for us." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice had bit her lip, then smiled shyly back. "Then we must be really good friends 'cause those are some wicked donuts." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had chuckled quietly in return and headed back into the kitchen, followed by Mary Alice. Stephanie had smiled to herself. In her head, she could clearly hear Ranger's low voice teasing, "That stuff will kill you, Babe." It was nice having Ranger's voice back in her life. She'd wondered, though, at the fact he hadn't given that standard caution in his note. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn't sure why, but it had made the donuts feel more purely like a gift than anything Ranger had lent or given her in the past. Perhaps it was because it wasn't a car or a gun, where Ranger was the expert bestowing something from his world. Donuts were purely something she liked, even if he didn't, given without instruction or a warning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, she'd shrugged with another smile; perhaps Ranger knew Stephanie would hear him anyway, in her head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, her attention had been occupied by the normal, Plum-style chaos of the morning. Children clattering downstairs. Juice and milk; cereal, pop-tarts and donuts; spills and mop-ups. And, the give-and-take of conversation, complaints, and teasing. She'd glanced periodically at Mary Alice during breakfast and couldn’t help but notice the pensive look that peeked from behind the girl’s typical good spirits.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Mary Alice put on her coat to catch her ride to high school, Stephanie had wanted to tell her unusually quiet daughter that everything would be alright. But Stephanie knew that both she and Angie were beyond the little white lies that adults told children to make them feel better. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that thought, Stephanie had taken a deep breath and squared her shoulders; she didn’t want to tell any lies. She’d had a fantasy of who Ranger was, back when she’d known him before. Little white lies she'd told to herself, which had allowed her to become his lover, both of them wrapped in her make-believe haze. But she hadn’t really accepted Ranger the man: the person who wasn’t Batman or the Wizard, but just a talented, handsome, watchful man. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, each of them had reached out from time to time, but she'd never really let in Ranger, the man behind the superhero fantasy. The warrior behind his walls. And Stephanie wasn't entirely sure Ranger really knew how let down those walls. Stephanie tipped her head up: it was up to her to keep reaching out so Ranger would know that she wanted him in her life. Acceptance, like a saucer of milk left on the porch day after day until it could be trusted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It might be easier said than done, but it wouldn’t happen if she didn’t keep trying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she pulled on her coat and helped Lisa and Sarah get ready, Stephanie’s gaze had drifted back to the table, now cleared except for a few remaining donuts. Ranger already seemed to be reaching out to her. One donut at a time. She nodded to herself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she saw Lisa’s hand dodge out to grab the last glazed donut, which she promptly stuffed into her lunch bag. Recognizing that gesture, Stephanie smiled. Ranger might be a man of few words, but he knew how to read people. At least, he knew how to reach the Plums.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Stephanie had paused, realizing how many donuts they had, in fact, eaten. She wondered whether she was about to get besieged by calls from multiple teachers for unleashing donut-fueled, sugar-bombed troublemakers into the school system for the day. Snorting, she’d remembered that they were all Plums, and she’d relaxed. Actually, they were all Mazurs, for whom sugar and fat were fundamental food groups. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And unlike Stephanie—who had finally given into the urge to grab the box of remaining donuts as she left the house—her girls all had enough willpower to stop at one or two.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, a couple hours later, Stephanie realized she probably was still adrift on a donut high as she walked by the Dunkin' Donuts near her office for the second time today without even a twinge of temptation. This morning’s weekly case-review meeting had certainly seemed more enjoyable than usual. And even the prospect of driving all the way downtown to the monthly Boston police liaisons’ meeting didn’t faze her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She exhaled with satisfaction as she started her car. It was a vintage day: starting with donuts, enjoying thoughts of Ranger that threaded through her mind, and now about to drive her car around town… all that was missing was Lula in the passenger seat. Stephanie laughed; she should try calling Lula later today. It had been a couple of weeks since they’d chatted, and boy did Stephanie have some news this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At just that moment, her cellphone rang. She reached out to her phone on the passenger seat and pressed the answer button while she straightened her earphone cable. "Hello, Stephanie Plum here," she answered as she completed the mechanics of setting up her phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hola</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ciruela," she heard the voice of her friend Wilfredo Perez from the pawn shop as she started to back her car out of its space in the BPD lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hola </span>
  </em>
  <span>‘Fredo," she answered. "What’s up?"  Her attention was piqued knowing that ‘Fredo didn’t call often, and when he did it was usually later in the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hey </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi amiga</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I only have a couple of minutes. So first off, my sister Daniela says to tell you they agreed to foster that girl you came by to discuss. They’re picking her up today."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh, that’s great news. But let Daniela know that she can call me directly if she wants. I love hearing from you, ‘Fredo, but I know you’re busy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A bark of amusement came over the phone as ‘Fredo answered, "Of course, Ciruela. But Dani probably already has you on speed-dial, right under the number for that lady at the school that my sister calls every few days to make sure they are treating her little ones just right.” As Stephanie laughed, ‘Fredo continued, “Oh, and Abuelita says she has free time the next few afternoons so I should invite you and your </span>
  <em>
    <span>compañero</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come visit. That is, your companion who shops for interesting gadgets and who I'm told has eyes that could fill the soul.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she really say that?” Stephanie asked with a chuckle as she merged her car onto the Jamaicaway on her drive downtown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard ‘Fredo laugh outright, as he confessed, “You see, this is how I know my Abuelita is watching too many daytime dramas, where they talk about men’s eyes filling one’s soul and women’s smiles making butterflies flap drunkenly in the heart. </span>
  <em>
    <span>¡Ay, qué tontería!</span>
  </em>
  <span>” ‘Fredo exclaimed. “What nonsense!” He repeated. “Anyhow, this is also how I know Abuelita is bored and I need to get one of my lazy brothers to take her out some afternoon to visit her friend Milagros to play canasta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well ‘Fredo, if it helps, my afternoon appointment got rescheduled so I could stop by for maybe an hour today.” Then, aware that ‘Fredo was sidestepping Ranger’s name in the conversation, she followed suit by adding, “But, unfortunately my friend who you’re talking about is really busy.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not a problem; no need to stop by today. I’ve already let Abuelita know that we can’t all drop our important business to hang around in the room behind my shop, entertaining destination though it is.” Stephanie heard a sound in the background that she assumed was ‘Fredo opening the large metal grate in front of his store’s entrance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi amiga</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the other reason I called is that my cousin Mateo was over to dinner last night. He told me he had some interesting visitors about a week ago in his </span>
  <em>
    <span>cambio, </span>
  </em>
  <span>his money exchange on Columbia Road in Dorchester, not far from Franklin Park. It sounded like they were looking for someone like your friend, the one whose soulful eyes we were just discussing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did they say anything?” Stephanie asked, listening closely while keeping her eyes on the traffic in front of her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing other than claiming they were trying to find an old friend who looked like your </span>
  <em>
    <span>compañero</span>
  </em>
  <span> while they cashed a check. Mateo noticed it because they called him their friend but they didn’t sound like they liked him. Like how the kids from gangs ask for people, though these guys were too old for a gang.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie turned onto Storrow Drive, she heard muffled sounds in the background on ‘Fredo’s end. “Hey </span>
  <em>
    <span>amiga</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I have to go. But before I forget, Mateo said the check was odd because it looked like a personal money-transfer but had a routing number he didn’t remember seeing before. It almost looked like a government number, but it wasn’t a government check.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, that’s weird.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Oh also, Mateo called one of the men </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Cicatriz</span>
  </em>
  <span>, so that man had a scar. He said the other was a man about my height, </span>
  <em>
    <span>piel el color de flan</span>
  </em>
  <span>. So, light-to-medium brown skin. Mateo said he spoke the Portuguese that’s hard to understand, so probably from Brazil. Or maybe Cape Verde,” ‘Fredo added in a distracted tone. "Too light skinned to be one of those guys from Angola."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he have curly hair, or straight?” Stephanie asked. She knew from the pictures Ranger had shown her that his skip, Figueroa, had straight hair. The other man in Ranger’s list who might speak Portuguese was Djaleo, but his hair was tightly curled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t know. I can ask Mateo later today. So anyway, gotta go. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hasta luego</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he rushed out his farewell. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Bye, ‘Fredo. Thanks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After ending the call, Stephanie looked at the clock in her car. Adjusting the time in her head, she decided it was only mid-morning. Since she hadn’t heard yet from Ranger, she decided to wait before calling. She knew he’d spent the last couple of nights out until close to dawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she drove toward the parking lot near the New Sudbury Street station, Stephanie reflected that the shadows she’d seen under Ranger’s eyes yesterday were almost as deep as when she’d picked him up at the jail. And though he was as graceful, decisive, and lethal-looking as always, his motions were measured as though he was metering his energy carefully. Perhaps the best gift she could give Ranger in exchange for this morning’s donuts was to let him sleep for awhile longer. After all, ‘Fredo’s information was about a week old, according to him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still deep in thought, Stephanie parked her car and walked to the station. As she approached the glass front doors, a man exited and stopped directly in front of her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning, Plum,” the man said with surprise, holding out his hand to keep Stephanie from bumping into him. “What brings you all the way downtown?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Detective Breyer,” Stephanie acknowledged as she focused her startled gaze at the tall, graying man who was in the process of buttoning his coat. “I have a meeting today. How about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I needed to compare notes on a narcotics case that’s going to court in a few days. Also, since my old partner Lintner is down here, now, I figured I’d visit in person for a change.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shifted, then reached out for Stephanie’s elbow, moving her away from the front door. “Actually, Plum, this is a good coincidence. I’ve been debating whether to call you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why, what’s going on?” Stephanie asked. She had helped Breyer occasionally in the past, but her most recent interaction was the other night, when she’d gone to visit Ranger in jail. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Something interesting just came up related to your friend Mañoso,“ Breyer said as he pulled his hands away and into his coat pockets. “We had a small break in that shooting down in Dorchester; the one where your friend’s car and gun were ID’ed."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They weren’t Ranger’s car or gun,” Stephanie answered automatically.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, I hear you,” Breyer answered with a rueful smile as he slouched against the brick wall. “Anyway, we haven’t made much headway on motive or on the vics—the shooting victims—other than what your informant told you the other day at the funeral home. And that’s not admissible. But, late last night a couple uniforms found a couple of kids who saw the car approach the vics on the night of the shooting. Their descriptions are the most credible we’ve found, given some of their details." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie remained silent, intuiting that Breyer was sifting through what he could safely tell her, knowing her connection to Ranger. She didn’t want to interrupt the train of his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer took a deep breath and looked down. “Interesting thing: none of the guys they described in the car sounded like your friend Mañoso. One guy had a wide face, and either he was slouching half on the floor of the car or he was fairly short. And it sounds like the guy with the gun had a big scar on his face. Could’ve been makeup, but the clothes the kids described don’t match what Mañoso was wearing when we found him in that same car."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hmmm," Stephanie nibbled her lip, trying to figure out how to provide information without getting Ranger’s bail rescinded or getting Joe in hot water for digging into Ranger's case off-the-books. Well, when in doubt, give the bare minimum and let everyone else fill in the details. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding to herself, she said, "Ranger told me there’s a guy with a warrant out from New Jersey named Krc—that’s ‘k, r, c’ without any vowels, which is totally odd so you should be able to find it. I remember Ranger saying that Krc had a big scar on his face. He’s somehow related to the case Ranger was on." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer looked up at Stephanie, squinting into the crisp morning sun. "What about his case?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie paused. Possibly Breyer was trying to compare stories, to find out if Stephanie would tell him something that Ranger hadn’t. Well, crap, the next time she spoke to Ranger, Stephanie needed to ask how much the BPD knew about his search for Figueroa. In any case, Stephanie smiled ruefully, this wasn’t the first time someone had tried to oh-so-casually find out what she knew. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At this point, though, Stephanie considered that she and Breyer were even. He’d given her information about what they’d discovered about the shooting, and Stephanie had provided a suspect whose picture he could find and show to witnesses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well," Stephanie hedged, "I don’t really know much about Ranger’s case. Probably you know more. But, Ranger’s a licensed bounty hunter and private investigator. He told me that he’s tracking a guy who pulled a parental abduction." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"He’s tracing this Krc fellow?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No, I think Krc is somehow related to the guy Ranger is looking for. But, like I said, you probably know more about it than I do." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer’s lips pursed in ironic humor. "Yeah, uh huh." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noting Breyer’s skeptical gaze, Stephanie quickly changed topics. “So, if your witnesses identify other men at the scene of the shooting, is that enough to drop the charges against Ranger?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, afraid not,” Breyer answered. “Mañoso doesn’t have an alibi and there’s still circumstantial evidence that ties him directly to the shooting.” Then, probably seeing Stephanie’s deflated expression, Breyer added, “But, you never know. One thing can lead to another, and suddenly you have enough evidence and witnesses to solve the case.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer reached out briefly and patted Stephanie’s arm. “You know we in the BPD don’t give up. Hopefully your friend wasn’t involved and we’ll find who framed him.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded. “Thanks,” she answered quietly. “I just know he’s innocent. Now I can see how frustrating it is to wait while everyone goes through the process.” She shrugged, then added with a brief smile, “You know that I trust you. It’s just that I’m not exactly the most patient person in the world.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer chuckled. Then, after a brief pause, he tilted his head. "So Plum, I have to ask: were you getting bored in your life?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Huh?" Stephanie asked, all eloquence lost at Breyer’s apparent change of topics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Just saying, Plum." Breyer pulled his hands from his pockets and arched himself away from the wall, "Just an old detective’s observation that your friend Mañoso seems a bit more hardcore than your usual juvie </span>
  <em>
    <span>pro-bonos</span>
  </em>
  <span> and shelter cases." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but I know Ranger. He needs to look tough to do the job he does, but he always tries to do what’s morally right.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Breyer gazed at Stephanie, eyebrow raised. Then he commented in a lowered voice, "Just be careful, Stephanie. Trouble follows some people around. Sometimes you can help those folks and make a difference without getting embroiled yourself. There’s not much you can do, though, for people who seem to actively throw themselves at trouble."  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. "Actually, that would be me. At least, that used to be me. People used to wager on what would happen because I’d jumped headlong into yet another thing that looked simple but was actually crazy. But not Ranger. Even though his job involved going into danger, he was always prepared so things would stay as safe as possible. Ranger always knew what to do, knew how to finesse the impossible, land on his feet and make everything right." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well," Breyer said in a neutral tone as he pulled a pair of gloves out of his pocket, "Since he’s a friend of yours I hope he lands on his feet again this time. As for me, I have to go try to persuade a couple scared, street-wise kids that we can protect them if they go on record describing the men they saw that night in Dorchester. If it really was gang-related, though, you know how low probability that is."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked down, realizing that she was tapping her foot. "Would it help if I find someone in the neighborhood to talk with first? Someone who could maybe make the case for you, to their families?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"C’mon Plum," Breyer said gruffly as he pulled on his gloves. "Give me credit for knowing how to work the neighborhood." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie made a face. "Sorry. I just got over-enthused there for a moment. Didn’t mean to overstep." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," he answered after a pause. "I understand. Who knows: maybe it’ll come to that." He coughed briefly. "Anyway, thanks for the tip about Scarface in the car."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course. And, thanks for letting me know you’re making progress. You know I appreciate it."  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing,” Breyer answered as he started toward the parking lot. “Just do me a favor and keep out of trouble,” he added over his shoulder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best,” Stephanie answered with amusement as she opened the door to the police station. “Yup,” she exhaled, “I’m doing my very best,” she muttered under her breath as she checked the events placard in the vestibule to find her meeting’s location. Then she badged into the business side of the building and headed to the conference room for her meeting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A few hours later, Stephanie was still thinking about her conversations with Detective Breyer and her friend ‘Fredo as she got back into her car. During her meeting, ‘Fredo had texted two words: “straight hair.” So the person his cousin had seen wasn’t Djaleo, but might be Figueroa. If so, she knew that was a big deal, because it placed the man with Krc shortly before Ranger had been nabbed at the bodega.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie feathered the gas pedal and started her sluggish Subaru, listening to its distinctive rattle and the gusting sound of cold air coming through the vents. Turning off the car’s fan, she decided it was late enough that she could call Ranger while she drove back to her office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Ranger answered after the second ring, his voice low. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo yourself,” Stephanie answered. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but it’s alright if you had,” Ranger answered. There was a pause, and Stephanie was about to speak when Ranger added in a quiet baritone, “You can call me anytime, Babe.” The quiet suddenly felt intimate as Stephanie heard Ranger’s soft inhale over the phone. “You can call anytime at all. If I can’t talk at that moment, I’ll call you back. But I’ll always be happy to hear from you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you Ranger,” Stephanie answered. “You know the same is true for you, too. I’ll always want to hear from you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, in her mind’s eye, Stephanie saw a flash of Mary Alice's thoughtful, downcast face this morning at breakfast. She could also picture the watchful expression she’d seen in Ranger’s eyes over the past several days.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a deep breath. “But Ranger, remember that you know me. After this case is over, I’ll come find you if you don’t call back.” Tilting her jaw up, she added, “And you know I'll do it. I won’t wait for another seven years for you to tell me your new phone number when you change it, or when you can't figure out how to use the call-back button.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed ruefully and Stephanie felt her fingers relax from where they’d been gripping the steering wheel. In a voice laced with amusement, Ranger admitted, “Babe, I have no doubt.” After another low chuckle, he added, “In fact, I'm confident in both my ability to be an idiot and your ability to find me and tell me about it, when I am one.” More quietly, Ranger continued, “And I do want to keep in touch, Babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s mutual Ranger. I missed you and worried about you,” Stephanie replied. “I really thought I'd never see you again.” She swallowed, and then added, "So, I need you to promise something. If you think you're going to disappear like that again, it'll hurt but I'll understand. The girls won't though. So, just... well, please just don't make promises to be in touch if you don't mean it. I don't want my girls to go through that. They like you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like them, too, Babe. They’re really good kids.” Stephanie heard rustling in the background, and then Ranger’s voice, quiet and low. “Babe, I can’t promise how often I can visit, especially while I don’t know how this case is going to resolve. But I do promise to call. And I promise to let you know if I have to go in the wind for awhile.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's all I ask, Ranger. I just want to know you're okay.” Feeling almost shy, she added, “And, well, I like talking with you. I always have." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Me too, Babe." Stephanie heard the familiar scrape of a chair and knew that Ranger was in her kitchen. After a brief pause, Ranger commented slowly, “When I came back from that year-long mission, back to Trenton, I had a lot of shit going on. I wasn’t good company for awhile. Then, well, it was easier being on my own." Ranger paused. "If you had been in Trenton when I got back, I'm sure we would've talked. But as Tank told me at the time, I had my head fairly far up my ass, so I'm not sure how productive it would've been." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Balanced between an upwelling of compassion for the pain she felt echoing in Ranger's voice, and the unfortunate contortion that Tank's imagery flashed in her mind's eye, Stephanie blurted, "But why in heavens did Tank say that?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From the other end of the phone, Stephanie heard a dry exhale, something between a sigh and a sardonic laugh. "Tank had his reasons,” Ranger answered. “I didn't agree with all of them, but he was more right than I knew at the time. Let's just leave it at that for now, Babe." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she had a chance to reply, a car horn blared right behind her and Stephanie jumped in her seat. Looking up, she saw that she'd lost track of traffic. She was stopped at a green light with a line of cars behind her. In her rear-view mirror, she saw the driver behind her waving her arms like she was conducting the Boston Pops rendition of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ride of the Valkyries</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A chorus of additional horns started. "Oh crud," she exhaled as she stepped on the gas. "C'mon lady," she muttered, "the light’s only been green for like thirty seconds. Get a life."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Gotta pay attention to your surroundings, Babe," Ranger said in a dry tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh very funny," Stephanie huffed as she made a face. "This is me rolling my eyes at both you and the stuck-up chick in the BMW who, by the way, just passed me on the right because it's clearly important to be one car in front when we get to the next red light up ahead." Stephanie muttered. “Which we both can see. Sheesh!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie grumbled her way toward the next stop light, Ranger chuckled and then asked, “So, I’m thinking that perhaps the donuts this morning were a bad idea?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” Stephanie asked, still somewhat distracted by traffic. “How could you even ask that? Donuts are never a bad idea. On behalf of the Plum family, who wear jelly stains on our sweaters as a badge of honor, thank you very much for bringing them home with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I was just wondering if maybe sugar and traffic didn’t mix.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Geez, Ranger, you’ve been in my car with me this week. You know I talk back to the other drivers.” Stephanie pressed down on her car’s brake at the last minute, stopping just behind the bumper of the BMW, which was now in front of her. She spared a moment to smile internally as she watched the BMW driver’s head snap toward the rear-view mirror.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, her focus back on Ranger, Stephanie rushed to assure him. “But really, Ranger, thank you for bringing home donuts this morning. I wish it didn’t mean that you were out working until dawn, but it was really nice.” Smiling, she added, “Really nice. You did remember exactly which kinds I like, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she sat in traffic she imagined that she was in her kitchen talking to Ranger in-person. She could practically see his handsome, stoic face watching her, and catch the moment when amusement quickened in his eyes as she shared her inner dialogue with him. It had been one of her favorite memories of her times with Ranger, before she’d forced herself to forget him a few years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not willing to forget him anymore—and wanting to recapture what had always been easy between them—she kept talking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a dilemma, though. On one hand, Ranger, I wonder if the forces of the universe have become unbalanced by the sheer act of Ricardo Carlos Mañoso buying a big box of pastry that the ‘temple’ can’t even imagine could be considered food. On the other hand, Anna’s is by-far the best donut shop in the area, so you’re keeping with the tradition of ‘Ranger always buys the best’.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tapped the accelerator to inch forward in traffic as she heard a lightly exhaled chuff of humor over the phone. “So, Ranger, I’ve decided that the universe is still in balance. But it’s tipped to the side of good because donuts are like birthday cake and chocolate Easter bunnies. All of which clearly add to the amount of goodness in the world.</span>
  <span>”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger said, and Stephanie pictured him shaking his head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she had a thought. “But, geez, Ranger I wasn’t thinking. I hope that you didn’t develop a donut habit over the past few years, because the girls and I ate them all.” Then her innate honesty asserted itself and Stephanie confessed, “Well, actually, I took the remaining donuts to work.” Sheepishly, she added, “I think I saved a couple at my desk for this afternoon. I could bring them home for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard Ranger’s low rumbled laugh. “Breathe Babe. It’s okay. I bought them for you. I still don’t eat donuts. Anyhow, I figured you’d finished them since all I found were crumbs, and you don’t seem to have a hamster anymore.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed in reply to Ranger’s amusement. “No, Lisa’s allergic to almost all animal dander, so no hamsters. Rex the Wonder Hamster has no successor, which I guess is fitting since he </span>
  <em>
    <span>was </span>
  </em>
  <span>the king of housepets.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, just because he bit Morelli’s finger doesn’t make Rex the king of housepets.” Ranger commented lightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, I’m just going to pretend you didn’t say that,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. Noting a large Range Rover turning into traffic ahead of her, Stephanie blurted, “Hey, were you fibbing about getting a new car? I didn’t see one in the driveway this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I found a spot on the other side of Centre Street and walked from there. I thought a black Ford Expedition with tinted windows that rides low on its axles would stand out in your neighborhood. Don’t want to call attention to your house.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, good point. You know Ranger, I could ask Artie from down the block if there’s a place I could move Big Blue, and you could use the garage next to the house. He’d probably even try to pay me for the opportunity.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, that’s okay. I actually like to do the last quarter-mile or so on foot. Gives me a chance to do a last check for any tails. And, a chance to think.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but let me know if you change your mind,” Stephanie answered. “Hey Ranger, before I forget, I have some news for you. First, I know unofficially that the BPD might have found someone who can identify two men riding in that car right before the shooting for which they framed you. It’s not solid yet, but at least the detectives working the case know there’s doubt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Babe; good to know.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, and supposedly one of the guys has a scar and the other is kinda short. But that’s not the most interesting thing. ‘Fredo called. His cousin Mateo has a shop over in Dorchester. It sounds like he might have had that guy Krc and maybe Figueroa in his shop last week asking after you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Ranger countered in a suddenly all-business voice. “If so, that’s the first time I’ve known that they were physically together.” Stephanie heard the scrape of Ranger standing up from the kitchen table. “Babe, if I text you pictures of Krc and Figueroa, can you get them to your friend Wilfredo for his cousin to verify? I still don’t know why they know each other, but it will be helpful to know if they’ve been working closely that recently.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I’ll get them to ‘Fredo and let you know what he says. Can he call you directly back if he feels comfortable doing so?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure. Also, see if his cousin can pinpoint the day when they stopped in his shop.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Will do.” Stephanie paused as she changed lanes, getting ready for the right turn to take her into Jamaica Plain. “Ranger?” She asked, unsure of how to ask her question.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Babe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I know Gerry is great at tracking people, but he doesn’t have computer skills. Do you know anyone who can help you go through records to find out why all these guys know each other?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have a couple of connections in government intelligence agencies who are checking things as they can. But, I’m having to tread lightly, since there’s something fishy about how my FBI contact has gone silent. Also, some of the online records may have been tampered with. For one: I think I mentioned that Burc Aburek was cleared from the list of explosive experts to be tracked without an obvious reason code.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” Stephanie considered, nibbling on her lip. Inhaling, she dared to ask, “Can you enlist any of your former guys, like Silvio? Or could Tank help?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause on the line, and then Ranger answered in a matter-of-fact tone. “Silvio retired after a heart attack and bypass surgery. So, not someone I’d want to worry. And Tank does corporate security, last I heard. Keeping executives safe, ensuring board meetings happen without incident, that sort of thing. A different type of gig.” Stephanie wondered if she heard a bit of disdain in Ranger’s voice, but decided to ignore it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Ranger continued in a flat tone, “Normally I’d ask Hector to help, but unfortunately he’s in prison at the moment. Not a place where tapping into government computers is typically encouraged.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no!” Stephanie interjected. “Is he okay? Where is he? Can I visit? Bring cookies?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie thought she heard something drop, and then Ranger started laughing. It was an unguarded, infectious laugh; one she’d rarely heard. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know about the cookies, Babe. Honestly that’s something I’ve never thought about bringing to Hector." Thoughtfully he added, "But you’d probably have more luck bringing him cookies than trying to get him a bottle of Courvoisier.” Ranger laughed again. “He’s at Lincoln Correctional for another couple of years, though I’m working with his lawyers to petition for an early release. You could see him if you come to New York. I know the visiting schedule.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” Stephanie answered again. “Could I maybe go visit him sometime with you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Steph, I think Hector would really like that.” Ranger’s voice became softer as he continued. “After this case is over, we’ll plan it. How’s that sound?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be really nice, Ranger. Except the part about Hector being in prison. But since that’s where he is, that’s where we’ll visit him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing that she was getting close to her office, Stephanie knew she needed to wrap up. “So, Ranger. Here’s something that may help, but I’ll wait for your okay. The BPD has a downloaded copy of national security data files from a couple years ago. We got it during one of those terrorism scares. The deal was that we could use it, but it had to be kept off the network to keep it secure.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger hadn’t interrupted yet, so Stephanie continued. “I know the guy in charge of the IT team, and he told me recently that it’s still up-and-running, even though we don’t use it much anymore. I guess that’s because it’s a point-in-time and things have changed since then. But, I’m thinking that it might have some of the records you’re looking for, but before they got changed. He also said that, because it’s over two years old, regular BPD security clearance is enough to view almost everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What are you, proposing, Steph?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I could see if I could run any queries that turn up links between the people you’re tracking. Or maybe see if they show up in files you didn’t expect. Since the data isn’t on the network, nobody other than my friend Winkelsteen, the IT guy, would be able to trace what I’m looking at.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How well do you know him, Steph?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Winkelsteen? Well enough to know he’s not some secret double-agent. If he were, he’d try a bit harder to fit in with the bunch of cops he works with. Really, he’d fit in better with Mary Alice at one of the science fiction conventions she goes to.” Stephanie slowed to pull around a stopped bus. “If it makes you worry less, one of the things he likes best is that he thinks the Feds have forgotten that we have that data.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right Steph,” Ranger answered slowly, “I’m going to trust you on this. You have the names and other info about the guys I’m tracking. Obviously Figueroa is my main concern. But, all of them are dangerous guys. I’m not sure what Djaleo brings, other than liking guns and looking like an enforcer, but Krc probably has paramilitary experience while Aburek knows explosives. And somehow they seem connected to your skip Fennelly, since I spotted him and Krc both going to Geary’s pub.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anything else I should look at?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your instincts have always been good, Steph. The only other thing might be to look into the places where the men overlap: Galveston, Minneapolis, Portland Maine, and maybe Fall River. Maybe Boston, since it’s the first time I’ve run into Fennelly, but that might be too new a connection to be in the files you have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Ranger, that gives me a lot to go on,” Stephanie nodded even though she knew Ranger couldn’t see it. “I’ll let you know what I find, though it probably won’t be until tonight at the earliest. Which reminds me, you’re welcome to dinner if you have the chance.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ll see,” Ranger paused, then seemed to start over. “That would be nice, Steph. I’d like to spend time with you and your family while I’m here. I don’t know if I can; I’ll know better sometime this afternoon and I’ll let you know.” More quietly, he added, “If I can arrange it, I will.” Then, in his usual business-like tone, he said, “Right now, I’m about to head out.” Stephanie heard the sounds of her upstairs front door opening, followed by keys as Ranger spoke. “I’ll call you later, Steph. Or you can call me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I look forward to it Ranger,” Stephanie answered as she turned into the entrance for the precinct’s parking lot. As she lowered her window to tap her parking card, Stephanie added softly, “And Ranger, thanks for trusting me. It really means a lot. I know you don’t give your trust to everyone, so I promise I’ll do my best to live up to it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie didn’t add that, over the years, Joe had finally gotten her to understand how her habit of dashing to follow her ideas without discussion affected those around her. That one-too-many avoidable near brushes with death had made Joe—and probably Ranger—lose faith in Stephanie’s judgment. Even though Joe admitted that her insights and investigation had been exceptional, the men in her life had eventually taken to tag-teaming her as though she were a child. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had been a hard lesson to learn, engendering arguments even after she’d moved to Boston. But then, Angie was almost abducted coming home one evening from the mall with her middle-school friends. Angie had decided to follow a couple of gang members who’d broken into a car because, she’d said defiantly, it was the type of thing her Aunt Stephie would’ve done back in Trenton. Fortunately Angie’s friend Diana had called her parents when she’d realized Angie’s plan was leading them into a dangerous neighborhood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had called Joe that same night and told him that she finally understood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though unaware of Stephanie’s thoughts, Ranger didn’t answer her right away. Instead, Stephanie heard the muffled sounds of her downstairs neighbor Mrs. Arshad greeting Ranger and giving him a package. Finally, as Stephanie heard her house’s main front door creaking open in the background, Ranger’s voice returned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie, you know I trust you. Always have. Even if you </span>
  <em>
    <span>were </span>
  </em>
  <span>Vinnie Plum’s cousin</span>
  <em>
    <span>,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Ranger’s low voice chuckled. Stephanie pulled into a parking spot and turned off the car as Ranger added, “I just need you to tell me what you’re doing. My job is dangerous, Babe. You know that. And I have to do what I can to keep everyone safe. But, it means a lot to me that you’re asking for my advice. It helps me not worry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still smiling, Stephanie tossed her head ruefully. “I guess we all have to grow up sometime and learn new tricks, even me. Who knew?” She heard Ranger’s distinctive quiet, exhaled laugh. “So, Ranger, I’m back at the office and need to head in. I’ll talk to you later.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, talk to you later, Babe,” Ranger said before ending the call. Stephanie stared at her phone; that was almost an actual goodbye. Apparently Ranger could learn new tricks too. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she turned off the car, there was one more call Stephanie wanted to make before heading back into the precinct. She scanned through her phone’s address book and dialed the number.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Boston Police IT Department. Where ‘the fuzz’ meets the internet. Winkelsteen speaking."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Awesome. Just who I wanted to talk to." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Aw, Plum, you know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that." Stephanie heard typing continue non-stop in the background as Winkelsteen spoke. "But where’s the excitement; where’s the thrill of the chase? You call me from an outside line, but it has caller ID and I can see it’s coming from ‘Plum S’. Where’s the all-American phone-hacking fun in that? You assume that I’m an amateur?"  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sorry. What was I thinking?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah Plum, it’s the secret to my success: people always underestimate me. So anyway, what’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Remember that data dump of national security files we got a couple years ago? The electronic copy of the combined domestic threats files? Do you still have that up-and-running?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Duh," he editorialized with eloquence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie rolled her eyes, she heard the sound of a door closing and then Winkelsteen’s voice came back more clearly, “Of course I keep it running. My creature lives, bwa ha ha,” Winkelsteen enthused with a fake, dramatic accent. “But then, you know that since you were part of the great BPD caravan to MicroCenter, the MIT off-site warehouse, and my room at Planet Self Storage to get enough hardware to hold it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I thought my dad’s garage full of old TV parts and clocks was bad until I saw your storeroom.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, you never know when you’ll need a dot-matrix printer, or you’ll need to build a supercomputer from spare parts because you've got so much data it takes two straight days to download it. The Boy Scouts will tell you: it’s good to be prepared.” Winkelsteen sniffled. "So why the sudden interest in my…. mmm…. Big Data, sweet thing?" he asked in a fake, smarmy tone. "Because, you know, size </span>
  <em>
    <span>does </span>
  </em>
  <span>matter." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ugh,” Stephanie grunted at his wisecrack and then laughed, knowing that half the joke was that Winkelsteen was still regularly asked for ID at bars due to his slight frame and shaggy hair. "I wondered if it’s possible for me to search for a few things. Kinda off-the-record but in a totally patriotic way." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, as you know, I keep the love of my data-loving life in its own private suite. At least, it’s air-gapped off the network. So you’d have to come downtown to the annex. Also, I’d have to help because the index and search programs are special-purpose. If you don’t know what you’re doing, the query can run for days and bring back enough data to make the U.S. Census people cry with envy." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed again. "I can be free after 3:30 this afternoon. Could we try a couple of searches then?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure, we’ll do a couple of index searches today, to narrow the data. Then we’ll set a couple big searches to run overnight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, see you a bit later today.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You betcha. You know where to find me." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After ending the call, Stephanie smiled with satisfaction. She might not be the Bombshell Bounty Hunter anymore. But, she could still bring it.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. A New Perspective</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 19: A New Perspective</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in a hard plastic chair in the basement of the downtown police annex, Stephanie looked again at her phone. She’d answered her work email, listened to messages and returned calls, followed up on questions from her morning meeting, confirmed a work meeting for tomorrow, and rescheduled her dentist appointment to next month. And she still had at least another hour before her query results would return, according to Winkelsteen’s prediction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tapped her free hand on the hard chair next to her. She looked around the small, featureless room and its tired beige walls. She couldn't help wondering, yet again, who had convinced the 1960s Boston police department to standardize on a paint color that was somewhere between stale bread and old moccasins. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Janice had told it was because a study said that beige was so boring that it kept people calm. Like a thick Sherwin Williams anesthesia slathered in police buildings across Boston in an effort to keep the city on an even keel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie suspected, though, that actually the BPD had gotten it cheap after someone had made a paint mixing error. Probably it was like how her Uncle Peppy had once made a few hundred dollars by selling his own clothes at a Grateful Dead concert after accidentally washing them with a magenta rug that leached color in swirly patterns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed under her breath at the memory. She pondered, yet again, whether she should be happy that the deep and varied weirdness of her family gave her such a rich understanding of the fundamental quirks of human nature.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This was turning out to be a long, boring afternoon. Tapping her foot, Stephanie looked at the clock and decided it was the time when Lula often grabbed an early dinner on evenings when she worked late. So, pulling out her cellphone, Stephanie found Lula’s number and hit "call." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey girlfriend!” Lula’s voice rang out. “Hold on just one second.” Then Stephanie heard a muffled, “Yes, I want the full crabcake platter. Don’t even give me that so-called healthy plate because that food has no flavor.” Lula came back on the line. “Now here’s something I don’t understand, white girl. We got restaurant menus that list calories, and everything is </span>
  <em>
    <span>diet </span>
  </em>
  <span>this and </span>
  <em>
    <span>healthy </span>
  </em>
  <span>that, and still we got an epidemic of people taking Lipitor who complain all day about their weight. Does that make sense to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotta admit,” Stephanie answered with laughter in her voice, “I never thought about it that way, but you’re right: it doesn’t make a whole lot of sense.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, now that’s what I’m saying,” Lula replied. Stephanie heard murmuring, followed by Lula's voice thanking someone. Then, back in her ear, Lula resumed, “I mean, all these people eating like it’s a science experiment, but you don’t gotta do that to lose weight. Now that I’m tracking it like they say in Weight Watchers and only eating when I’m hungry, I’ve lost almost 30 pounds. So I’m gonna keep eating food that tastes good.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard scraping and a thump, and assumed that Lula was sitting down. “So what’s going on, girlfriend?" Lula asked. "I missed talking with you last week, what with going to that public health seminar and all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Stephanie answered. “Was it worth going?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I was surprised, but it was good. I learned some stuff and got to network with some other folks who do outreach that’s similar to our ‘Clinic on Wheels.’ And, you know it’s people doing the work in the trenches who can tell you the real deal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"That's for sure," Stephanie agreed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"And, I think I mentioned this: the keynote speaker was Joycelyn Elders, the Surgeon General a few presidents ago. Man, that woman has some for-real experience. Whether you like what she has to say or not, she ain't afraid to say it. I gotta respect that. Ain’t letting nobody keep her down. And, it made me think: who would’ve expected someone like me would get to be in a room with someone like that someday?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Jocelyn Elders; wait, wasn’t there some scandal about her?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula </span>
  <span>harrumphed</span>
  <span>, slurped again, and then answered. "Yeah, homegirl, this tells you everything you need to know about people in authority. They sacked her ‘cause she said masturbation was healthy and orgasms are good for you. Apparently this was a shocking new discovery ‘cause it was front page news.” Lula snorted audibly, then added, “Like all those high and mighty people who disapproved aren’t off doing the hand jive their own selves whenever nights get long and lonely. Or whenever they damn well get the itch.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I have to admit,” Stephanie nodded, “some of those nights do get long and lonely.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I heard that,” Lula proclaimed. “But you know, you got that fine man living right next door to you. What’s his name... Darius, right? Last time I visited, I got the distinct impression that he could become part of your life with no effort at all. He is definitely some eye candy. And I saw him with your girls; he treats them good, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Darius is a really good man. I’m glad the girls have someone like him in their lives." Stephanie fiddled with the earbud cable as she spoke. "And I’m really glad he stayed in the neighborhood after his divorce.” Stephanie sighed, then added, “But I don’t know that I feel that way about him. I have this feeling that, if we did date, it would just be because it was convenient and I don’t want to risk our friendship for that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shook her head and muttered. “Been there; done that.” Smoothing out the cord to her earbuds, Stephanie added, “Besides, it’s not a good idea to date the recently divorced.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now ain’t that the truth,” Lula affirmed. Stephanie suspected that Lula was agreeing with both of her comments, but didn't mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But anyhow, Lula, I interrupted you. How was the conference?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"It was good. I learned a lot and met some good people. But, you know, sitting and chatting with a former Surgeon General like we all just friends from way back… well that was something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a thoughtful voice, Lula continued, “Moments like that make you remember that anything is possible. You first just gotta get your shit together. If you find your path along the way, you got a chance to get where you're supposed to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula paused for another slurp, then added, “The crazy thing is you don’t end up where you were aiming. But maybe that wasn’t where you were supposed to be in the first place. It’s just that destiny or karma or whatever had to give you a big kick in the ass to get you headed the other way."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded, though she knew Lula couldn’t see. “If only it could happen without the kick-in-the-ass part, but yeah, I think you’re right. I just wish they’d teach us stuff like that while we’re growing up, instead of things like multiplication tables and the Magna Carta.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula chuckled, "You know, maybe they did teach us some of it. But you gotta pay attention. And anyhow, I’m not sure you can understand that kinda thing until you live it, if you know what I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Stephanie agreed, musing that Lula had a strong point. Growing up, Stephanie hadn’t exactly been good about paying attention. And half the time, she hadn’t realized until afterward what people were trying to tell her, anyway. Life sometimes had seemed like a series of “aha” moments, where stuff only made sense afterward. To Lula’s point: the “kick in the ass” after the fact.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she heard Lula slurping again, Stephanie remembered, “But Lula, I forgot to ask. Is this a good time to talk? I’m stuck for maybe another hour while I wait for some database results to come back. But what about you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I got some time today to catch up. My workday doesn’t start until 5 PM tonight on account of we're taking the outreach van tonight for that needle exchange program that we got that grant for. And, by the way, thanks for hooking us up with that gal who told us where to file for that grant. Funding for those programs gets harder to find every year."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Of course. As soon as I heard Heddy start talking about their program I knew you two should connect. I'm so glad that worked out for you guys."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sure did,” Lula answered. Stephanie heard the sound of dishes and silverware over the phone. Then Lula's voice resumed. "So girlfriend, give me a chance to eat, here, and tell me what's going on with you."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie squirmed slightly in her seat and straightened her blouse. Taking a breath, she said, "Well, um, I have a visitor from Trenton."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Your dad come up again? He doing okay?" Lula asked earnestly.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Thanks Lula. My dad’s okay, but my dad isn’t the one visiting."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay, white girl, I know how these conversations with you work. It’s like that game people play in the car on long trips when they’re about to shoot each other ‘cause they can’t agree on the radio station or the DVD to watch. So, are we talking male visitor, female visitor, or a family value package?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Male visitor."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well I know it's not Sally ’cause I just talked with him a couple days ago. And it ain't Joe ’cause you already told me that the TPD puts him up at the Best Western when he travels. Else, he travels with his family. So... you got Dougie there? He get lost on I-95 and just keep driving for six hours without noticing? That boy sniffed way too much glue or nitrous at an impressionable age."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie burst out laughing. "No, it's not Dougie. But, sadly, I could totally imagine him getting lost and driving here by accident."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The line was quiet for almost a full minute when Lula exclaimed, "Oh. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Hell </span>
  </em>
  <span>no. Don't even tell me that Vinnie's on the run again. Getting dropped in the Everglades that last time when Lucille caught him at the petting zoo should've been enough to make even that trouser snake get his shit together."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, "No, it's not Vinnie, but you're in the right professional grouping." She paused, mustering her courage because she knew this was the conversation she needed to have. With a wry expression that she knew Lula would be able to hear through her voice, she confessed, "It's Ranger."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy shit," Lula shouted out. "You got Batman in your house? After all this time? I hope he got a really good story about how he had amnesia or was abducted to fight in an alien war on the other side of the galaxy,” Lula exclaimed, and then continued in an only slightly quieter voice. “Oh, hot damn, girl. You got some serious over-sharing to jump into, right about now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked around the empty computer room as though she were sitting in the restaurant with Lula, checking for people listening after Lula’s enthusiastic reply. Distracted, Stephanie said, “I’m pretty sure he doesn’t like being called Batman."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay girl,” Lula answered wryly. “That’s what you picked up in all I said. Well, you can call him whatever you want. Or whatever gets him jiggy. Just so long as you tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> about it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“There’s not much to tell, Lula. He’s here on a job and I offered to let him stay in our house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” Lula slurped and Stephanie could imagine the "get real" look on her face as though Lula were sitting across from her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No really, Lula. He’s staying in the guest room, and we hardly see him because of the hours he works."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Okay. But unless Ranger made a reservation at the Plum B&amp;B over the Internet and he's climbing in-and-out the window like Tarzan every day to do his thing, I imagine you've seen him and talked to him. Which has gotta be kinda mind blowing after all this time, and after all you've been through. So what's it like?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt herself start to smile; Lula always cut to the chase, but in a way that made Stephanie see the humor and absurdity of the situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a deep breath. "Well, Lula, it’s confusing. I mean, I’m so happy to see him, and he’s still Ranger. He still carries a gun and chases scofflaws and fugitives for a living. He still walks and talks like Ranger, is still way too good-looking to be real, and he still doesn’t volunteer much about himself." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused. "But none of that's new. I did notice that he isn't flirting with me the way he used to, though sometimes I think he's about to and then stops. But he honestly seems pleased to be with me." Stephanie paused, thinking about how warm he’d sounded the past few days when they spoken on the phone, and how he seemed to be reaching out to her in many little ways. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The feeling of being in his arms in the hospital parking lot flashed into Stephanie’s mind, and she suddenly felt the tingle of heat all along her skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay girlfriend,” Lula wry voice interrupted her thoughts. “That’s less than they tell you in the plot summaries for those Hallmark family specials on TV where there’s about five minutes of actual events and the rest of the time people are all crying, acting out, and hugging and shit, between commercials for chocolate and coffee. So now tell me. What’s it like? What are you feeling? Has that man learned how to talk yet?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite herself, Stephanie chuckled. “I think he's trying really hard to talk more than he used to. At least about his feelings and why he's doing things. It's like he's mentally squinching his eyes and making his mouth say things sometimes, but I appreciate it. Because he's doing it for me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tilted her head. “He still hasn't told me much about the last seven years, but he's sharing more details and reasons than he used to. So I'm getting snippets. There's still a lot I don't understand yet, so I'm still reading between the lines. Which I guess isn't anything new, either."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She sighed then said what she hadn’t been able to admit even to herself until now. "Lula, I know I should be really angry with him for just showing up years later, after he left without a word. I know it hurt like heck and I cried so much I probably single-handedly deforested a mountain range with all the Kleenex I used. Probably my BPD shrink has a whole filing drawer dedicated to sessions about Stephanie's feelings and dreams about Ranger Mañoso."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a breath for courage. "And, Lula, I still resent that he just never called after he got back from that mission. I mean, you remember, for awhile I even thought he might be dead. But here's the truth: those feelings are far enough down the list of what I’m feeling that I’ll get to them later. Mostly I’m shell-shocked and glad he's here. Really glad, and I want to see if we can somehow be together again. Seeing him reminds me of why I always felt close to him from the very start. Now that he's here, he just </span>
  <em>
    <span>belongs</span>
  </em>
  <span>."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Mmm hmm," Lula murmured affirmatively, letting Stephanie know she was still listening.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing her friend's support, Stephanie continued. "But, Lula, he just seems so tired. And even more than that, he seems really alone. Even Mary Alice picked up on it. It makes me wonder if what I always thought was Ranger's self-sufficiency was something else.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh. Like what?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t know, Lula. He’s only been here since Saturday so I need time to figure it out.” Stephanie stopped; it was starting to come together in her head. “I think Ranger left </span>
  <em>
    <span>everyone</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not just me.” After another pause, she added, “the last few days he's actually needed my help for things I would’ve expected someone like Tank to handle. Maybe not Tank himself, but someone backing him up the way Tank used to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stopped there; she didn’t want to tell Lula that Ranger might not have gotten bailed out without her help, or let anyone know that he was operating solo. So she finished by simply saying, “It’s just weird to see him on a job without someone riding shotgun.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Lula muttered the way she did when she was thinking. “Well, you know, that’s not entirely a surprise,” Lula said slowly. “It’s not like we talk about him a lot over lunch, but over the years Tank sometimes let slip comments that make it sound like Ranger kinda likes to be a lone cowboy. Tank ain’t too flattering about it, neither.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait, you still have lunch with Tank after all this time? I thought you were seeing Delford.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula snorted, “Okay, now you’re trying to change the topic, but girl you know I’m still seeing Delford. I’m not planning on leaving that fine hunk of a man anytime soon. But that don’t mean I can’t have guys who are friends, like Tank. If Delford rolled that jealous way, he could roll his fine ass right out my door. Fortunately that’s not a problem. Me and my man: we tight. And you, of all people, should know it’s okay to have male friends, as long as they know that’s what they are.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie let Lula's pointed comment about male friends drop without comment; it was a topic they'd frequently covered over the years. “I’m glad. I really like Delford. You guys look good together, too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See now, you’re right, even though you’re trying to distract me again. But it’s true: that man loves how I put my look together, even if his idea of dressing up is nice jeans and last year’s Sean John pullover.” Lula chuckled. “But you know, it don’t matter what he wears. Delford always looks good and has a spirit as big as the world.” Stephanie waited, knowing Lula well enough to know she wasn’t finished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sure enough, Lula resumed speaking. “You know, I always got confused and thought I needed to have a man that was </span>
  <em>
    <span>physically</span>
  </em>
  <span> bigger than me. Which is why I had that gravitational pull toward Tank, back in the day. But that man had something wrong with him. Somebody told him to keep close to his pussy, which is good advice unless you misinterpret it to mean you should live with Garfield, Felix, Mittens, and Puff Mama.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn't help giggling. “Does Tank still live in a house full of cats?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“If he does, it’s not like he brings them to have lunch with us. But, now that you ask... he does kinda have hair on his trousers when I see him. So, I’m guessing </span>
  <em>
    <span>yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, unless he has a girlfriend with a crew cut who rubs her hairdo on his shins all the time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed out loud at the image, feeling some of her tension from the discussion melt away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula exhaled over the phone and asked, “So now, girlfriend, why all this interest in Tank? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you don’t wanna date him. That’s some serious long-distance, non-communicative shit, especially given that he lives down here in Baltimore and works 24/7.” Lula snorted audibly. “And more specifically, when you got Ranger in your house, non-communicating with you all up-close and in-person. When he's not climbing in and out the window to go to work, that is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed again. “Lula, I don’t know what I’d do without you. So, you already know I’m not interested in Tank. But, you brought him up. So what does Tank say about Ranger? If you can tell me, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure, I can tell you what I know, though it’s gonna be more like a series of things he’s said over time, ‘cause it ain’t like Tank </span>
  <em>
    <span>dishes</span>
  </em>
  <span> like you and I do. That man’s idea of girl talk is to tell me about who’s zooming who at the firing range. But, anyhow, I do know that he’s still pissed at Ranger over some of what happened at Rangeman."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Really? Like what?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The way he tells it, Tank felt like they’d all put in sweat equity to build their company and make a future, they got it running like a machine, and then Ranger was ready to piss it all away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t understand, Lula.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay girlfriend,” Lula answered, “So now, some of what I’m gonna say is conjecture, and some might not be what you want to hear. You okay with that?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>No. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Yes,” Stephanie answered as she sat forward in her chair, cradling her phone in her hand. “I’ll listen. I promise.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie swallowed, knowing that whenever Lula warned her she might not like what she’d hear, it was something Stephanie </span>
  <em>
    <span>needed</span>
  </em>
  <span> to hear. And that she’d have to work extra hard to keep from ducking into Denial-land. On an inspiration, Stephanie reached her hand into her work bag and pulled out the last donut she'd saved from this morning. A fine cloud of powdered sugar followed, settling on her hand like the memory of comfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay," Lula acknowledged as Stephanie surreptitiously nibbled on her donut. "So girlfriend, now here’s some background. Tank told me one time that he’d seen his daddy take one of those severance packages to leave whatever civilian job he’d had supporting the military—maybe it was facilities maintenance—and end-up kinda aimless afterward. His daddy hadn’t saved much money, and maybe he had a gambling problem."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took another bite as Lula kept talking. "In any case, I think the best job Tank’s daddy got after the severance money was gone was night security at a second-rate shopping mall. It was about a forty-five minute drive away from their home, it ground the old man down, and the pay was shit. But he needed the money. So, seeing all that, Tank wanted to build a future. And he wanted to use all his organizational skill and Army bad-ass self to do it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that makes sense,” Stephanie nodded, even though Lula couldn’t see her, and took another bite of donut. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, anyhow, Ranger was like his brother in the Army, and his commanding officer. He was always focused on the mission, locked and loaded. So, when Ranger brought him into Rangeman early-on as a partner, it was like Tank had seen the mountaintop. Glory days were just around the corner. They planned the company, who they’d hire, and how they could turn it into a nationwide brand. Like Pinkerton or Corporate Security Services. And, they did really good. As far as I can tell, the partners became millionaires when they sold the whole thing to Centurion Security.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So why does Tank still work if he’s rich?" Stephanie asked, speaking around her mouthful of donut. "And why is he angry at Ranger if they made all that money?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I think Tank really wanted to run a company. Wanted to do it the right way, you know? When they sold it, the arrangement Tank made was to keep running the Rangeman business that went over to Centurion. So he could at least pursue that part of his dream. Since then, he's been promoted to run their whole US corporate security division. That man’s climbing the ladder, and it ain’t no accident.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula paused and Stephanie heard her inhale. “I get the impression he thinks that Ranger’s approach—to sell the company and take the buyout—felt like Ranger walked away before the mission was over, leaving men in the field. At least, leaving Tank in the field."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So Lula, let me get this straight. Tank is pissed because Ranger didn't want to run a company anymore, maybe couldn't, so walked away and cashed out. Right?" At Lula's mumbled affirmative, Stephanie nodded. "Okay, I guess that makes sense. But it seems like Tank still got most of what he wanted. He has money; he has responsibility and gets to run things the way he wants. So why be mad at Ranger?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Well, you know it ain't like emotions are rational. Myself, I think Tank had a whole bunch of issues that he tied in with Ranger, so he oversimplified the whole transaction in his mind. The 'walking away from the company' thing was like the straw that broke the camel's back. And it felt like desertion, maybe. After all, Ranger had been Tank's CO, the one man who could get it done in a firefight. But, it wasn't the only problem, if you know what I mean.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Lula, I never saw any issues between them at Rangeman. Tank always had Ranger’s back. And Ranger acted like Tank was his brother. The man he would trust as much as himself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I remember that too." Lula replied. "A couple years ago, over drinks, Tank said he was sad to have lost that closeness with Ranger. But they had to go their separate ways. I know that Tank likes structure, visible overwhelming force, and all that shit. On the other hand, Tank made it sound like Ranger likes winging it, or changing the mission on the fly. When working missions, that combo was killer. It made them unpredictable and unstoppable at the same time."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula slurped; then continued talking. "But I guess that's not a great way to run a company. Or maybe it is, but only if you decide ahead of time who's 'top dog' and when. Or, maybe you gotta know how to talk things out, which as you know is not Ranger's strong suit, and I can tell you it ain't Tank's neither." Lula paused. "But anyhow, the back-and-forth of running a business together just didn't work, after a while. And then, with all that skill at non-communicating we talked about earlier... well Tank just let himself get really pissed at how Ranger acted in Trenton.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It must’ve been after I left because I never saw that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula paused before answering, and Stephanie heard the scrape of a fork before Lula answered in a slightly muffled voice. “No girlfriend, some of it went all the way back. But Tank has told me a few times—in other conversations—that in the military you learn to dissent in private and then deliver a hundred-and-ten percent in public. Which means he probably aired it all with Ranger in the office or the gym, but not in front of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he ever say what pissed him off in Trenton? Really, they all seemed to work so well together….” She added indignantly, “They were the Merry Men!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well yeah, that's what you called them,” Lula answered dryly, “but that don't make them into a happy band of sidekicks. Though I guess Tank could be like that Friar Tuck guy. And there were some mighty fine looking men working there who I would </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> have turned away from my door if they'd shown up wearing tights and tunics.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula slurped again. “But, the point being that, after listening to Tank and his HR rants over the past few years, I think they were just a bunch of guys who wanted a job and liked the kind of work and atmosphere that Ranger and Tank built at Rangeman. Or maybe it was Batman and Friar Tuck, though that combination don't quite work for me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through a low chuckle, Lula continued, “Anyhow, the Rangeman guys who still work with Tank probably like the working environment at Centurion, the same as they did at Rangeman. But it’s a job, you know? Some of them still hang out together after hours; a few have attended each others’ weddings; a few used to room together but now have different arrangements; and a few can't stand to be on the same shift as some of the others 'cause someone moved their cheese, pissed in their Cheerios, or some such shit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Stephanie answered, not quite sure what to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In other words, they’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>men</span>
  </em>
  <span>, like any other bunch of guys who work together. They just got handcuffs and guns, and bulging muscles, instead of pens and briefcases.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie frowned. “Okay Lula, that makes sense, though I’ll need some time to process it. But you still haven’t told me why Tank would be angry at Ranger. I really never saw it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula huffed a breath over the phone. “Well, I some of it was guy-to-guy stuff. For one thing, I think Ranger briefly dated one of Tank's friends from back home, and that didn’t go so well. Then Ranger got his sights set on you, and Tank disapproved.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably hearing Stephanie’s annoyed grunt, Lula clarified, “Nah, girlfriend, Tank didn’t disapprove of </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, though he sincerely thought you might’ve considered a different job. No, Tank felt Ranger was playing you. That each time you’d start to get your life straight, you'd get back into trouble because Ranger kept swooping in to confuse you with those bedroom eyes, bedroom hands, and bedroom everything else. That it was Ranger’s fault you didn’t settle down with Joe and have a life that was happy and outta trouble." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s eyes narrowed while Lula added, "Tank thought Ranger was just taking advantage of a nice whitebread girl checking out the wrong side of the tracks, and it wasn’t what a </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> man should do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Stephanie snapped, ”maybe I didn’t want to settle down with Joe on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> side of the tracks. Did Tank ever think of that?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, don’t shoot the messenger here,” Lula admonished. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Lula. I guess the ‘marrying Joe’ thing is still a hot button.” Stephanie ignored the muttered “Ya think?” that she heard over the phone, as she continued, “But Lula, the main point is that it wasn’t any of Tank’s business, and I can’t see how Ranger’s flirting interfered with Tank in any way. I know that Tank wasn’t interested in me. So I don’t get why Tank would still be mad at that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Lula exhale slowly before she started to speak. “Okay girlfriend, I’ll preface this by saying that Tank still sometimes asks if you’re okay, and he seems to give a shit about the answer. And I know for a fact that he kept you on the Rangeman insurance policy until they disbanded the company."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Stephanie replied hesitantly. "I didn't know that."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah, Tank kept both you and me on the policy. I guess Ranger had already added you. Then Tank had one of those 'responsibilities of a righteous man' revelations when he and I dated, and he found out I was still paying most of my salary to cover debts from when that crazy boxer landed me in the hospital, 'cause there ain't many insurance options for a 'ho." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Wow," Stephanie murmured. She was suddenly aware of unforgiving plastic of her chair, and the monotonous, metallic hiss of the computer room’s cooling fan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah. But that's a whole 'nother story. Anyway, Tank told me a few years ago that he and Ranger had a couple of major disagreements over Ranger’s habit of dropping everything to go help you. And, at the fact that Ranger would just announce that he'd allocated people to be your bodyguards, leaving Tank holding the bag on active projects. Sometimes Tank had to fill in himself; sometimes he’d have to call other men to come in on their days off or to work overtime.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Lula snort before her voice continued over the phone. “And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> he did not appreciate having to explain why it was okay to hire you whenever Ranger got the notion. Because that meant that next week Tank was gonna be in the middle of telling someone else why he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> hiring—as Tank put it—Lester’s latest booty call or the most recent hacker-chick that Brett had picked up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Lula, why didn’t Tank ever say anything? Sometimes Tank was even there with Ranger. He never really said a lot, and I know I don’t always listen well,” Stephanie ignored Lula’s pointed cough, “but what could I do if Tank never told me this?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, first off, it wasn’t Tank’s place to say anything to you. It was Ranger’s responsibility. Besides, he was angry at Ranger, not you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Lula ask for more napkins; then Lula’s voice came back over the phone. “And second, what would you have done differently if Tank </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> said something? Were you gonna turn down working for Ranger when money was tight and move back to your momma’s house? Were you gonna change how you went about bounty hunting? Which means: were you gonna stop running on your instincts, which is what gave you your edge but sometimes landed you in the shit?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Stephanie could answer, Lula forged onward. "Think about it, girlfriend. If you weren't going to give up bounty hunting, how were you gonna give up the parts that got Rangeman involved? Like maybe you could've put up a sign saying you weren't interested in being abducted that week? Or maybe declare that you were done getting firebombed by crazy people? In other words: all the things that made Ranger drop everything for you. Or maybe were you gonna stop the mouth-to-mouth practice with Ranger in the alley? Which, like I told you at the time, everyone knew about.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring Stephanie’s conspicuous silence, Lula continued, “But the bottom line is: overlooking all the above, </span>
  <em>
    <span>you </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t forcing Ranger to rush his fine, sculpted ass out of contract negotiations. Or to short-staff the company when they had a big job on the schedule. That was all on Ranger. He chose to stay or go when it felt right to him." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula snorted. "GIrlfriend, I even remember </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> complaining how he would book-out on you, too. Like when you were in the middle of a conversation or a </span>
  <em>
    <span>moment</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He'd get a text and then go all Robocop and be like, 'Somewhere danger is happening; gotta go'.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still smarting a bit from Lula's comments, Stephanie nevertheless smiled half-heartedly at that memory. “Yeah, I remember that. I got interrupted less when I worked for Trenton PD Dispatch for those three months than I did all the time when I was with Joe and Ranger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hear that, girlfriend. Those two men were married to their cellphones, and maybe were dating you on the side. Anyhow, like I was saying before I took an unplanned detour down bounty hunting lane, Tank wasn’t just pissed at how Ranger ‘special cased’ you. He also got tired of Ranger taking all those jobs that took him away from Trenton." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula continued speaking over the sound of her silverware scraping her plate. "Not the jobs where Ranger would go for five days to pick up some lowlife in Puerto Rico or Panama for Vinnie or Les Sebring," Lula elaborated in a matter-of-fact tone. "What Tank objected to were the jobs where Ranger would suddenly go undercover for the Feds, or overseas for months, with just coded messages on websites to let Tank know when he was returning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Stephanie said with surprise. “I thought they </span>
  <em>
    <span>all</span>
  </em>
  <span> took those jobs. We used to joke about how there was an overseas coup d'état whenever Ranger disappeared, but I assumed it was part of the Rangeman menu of services. You know: redecorate crack apartments; trace skips; repo cars; restore democracy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I remember that shit,” Lula laughed. “You know, it’s not like Tank would ever give me a straight answer on something like that. But from his comments, I guess Rangeman did accept some of those spook jobs based on long-standing contracts. But Ranger was different ‘cause he would just get a hair up his ass in the middle of the week and disappear on some job Tank didn’t even know about." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Lula ask for a refill on her lemonade, then Lula resumed talking. "So, Ranger would just show up in Tank's office and announce he was about to be gone for months and Tank had to pick up Ranger’s responsibilities. Then Ranger expected Tank to give back all the responsibility to Ranger when he skyed his Cuban ‘boardroom-gangstah’ ass back into town, weeks or months later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, when you put it that way, I can see how that could make Tank angry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Tank was hoping that Ranger had gotten some of that shit outta his system with that last job. Tank said Ranger seemed to be looking for something when he left on that one. Like he needed time away to find himself again. To reset and get his priorities straight. I guess Ranger even said some of that on a couple of all-nighters with Tank right before Ranger left. Tank said Ranger needed to reassess what costs he truly was willing to continue paying in his personal and work life.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Stephanie murmured vaguely, remembering some similar, more pointed comments from Ranger before he'd disappeared from Trenton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So when Ranger finally came back after a year, Tank thought his old commanding officer would finally be</span>
  <em>
    <span> in the house </span>
  </em>
  <span>again and be the leader Tank wanted to see. And, no disrespect, but Tank thought that Ranger might have an easier time keeping his attention focused since you had left town.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I’m guessing that’s not what happened, is it Lula?” Stephanie asked, afraid to find out that Ranger had been measurably better without her, but she needed to know. “He sold his business and left Trenton altogether. What happened, do you know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula exhaled. “I don’t know the details. But, I think that Ranger had even less interest in the business after he came back than before he left. He was distracted, like maybe he still wanted to be elsewhere. He spent more time away from Rangeman, doing whatever the hell he felt like, than ever before. And he disappeared a couple of times—to Miami maybe—without telling anyone." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula paused, then continued in a lower voice than usual, "I guess Ranger even showed up at Rangeman, once or twice, after an all nighter on-the-town with busted knuckles or a shiner he didn’t feel like explaining. And even you and I know that ain't Ranger.” Quietly, Lula added, “Tank actually talked a little about that time with Ranger recently, as part of a rant about all the male mid-lifing that’s been driving Tank ‘round the bend at work.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What, so Tank’s theory is that Ranger had early male menopause or something?” Stephanie couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Because based on what I’ve seen this week, I don’t think so.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula chuckled. “And now I have to thank you, because just the image of Ranger in a skintight T-shirt fighting hot flashes with one of those battery-powered electric fans is gonna keep me going all evening.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula kept speaking over Stephanie’s grudging laugh. "No girlfriend, I think Tank saw Ranger acting out, struggling with himself, and felt that the man should've been a lot more collected than he was. At least, given what Tank had seen Ranger handle in the Army, and in setting up Rangeman."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More thoughtfully, Lula added, “I think it troubled Tank to see Ranger conflicted. Maybe partly 'cause Tank always knew who he wanted to be, from the start, so how could someone Tank admire as deeply as Ranger not have his shit buttoned up? Tank told me once that he never figured out what was eating away at Ranger. But one time Tank did that thing—you know, where he rubs his head like it’s helping his brains to think—and said that it seemed like Ranger was mostly fighting his own self. Like he wanted different things that didn’t fit together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Oh," Stephanie shrugged, "like he wanted to be CEO of a company but also go away on missions by himself?" In her mind, she continued: or wear cargo pants and a utility belt most days, and then show up in an Armani suit that made women walk into walls. Or, eat twigs and berries, talk about sleeping on a dirt floor, but then live in an expensive GQ apartment where Frank Sinatra or maybe Pierce Brosnan might stop by while in town.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Lula snorted. "Like that. But I think it's deeper. According to Tank, when they were in the Army, out on missions, Ranger was all-the-way-real. He was a man Tank would follow into Hell itself because Ranger had like a compass for finding the righteous way through the valley in the shadow of death. Ranger held his soldiers to the highest standards."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Silverware scraped across a plate and Lula continued talking. "So then they’d go on leave and hit the bars, and Ranger would put on his mysterious Latin lover moves and do all the ladies he could find. Never the same one two nights in a row; unless of course they didn’t leave the room in between.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie found that she’d raised her hands, pushing away the air in front of her, not sure that she wanted to hear this. Before Stephanie could get her mouth engaged, though, Lula forged ahead. “But then Ranger got that woman pregnant—Rachel, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie admitted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger married her, and Tank said he knew the true measure of the man at that point. ’Cause Ranger snapped to it, did the right thing by Rachel, and tried to act like it was what he wanted to do. Even though, Tank said, he could tell Ranger was dying inside. Same as in the Army, though, Ranger took the righteous path even to his own detriment. And then, when Rachel decided she wanted something more outta life than an absent husband and army housing, Ranger made sure that she and their daughter would never want for money.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, Ranger has basically said that himself,” Stephanie nodded, realizing how unhappy Ranger must’ve been in that part of his life.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But here's the thing. Once, over late-night drinks after a mission, Ranger told Tank that he’d really tried, with Rachel, to </span>
  <em>
    <span>feel </span>
  </em>
  <span>like a husband. To be a good family man, like his father and grandfather before him. And I guess he almost felt that way when he held his baby girl. But Ranger told Tank he was just playing a part, and that wasn’t good for anyone. Before he met Rachel, Ranger said he'd spent time on his missions longing for a home where he could return. But as soon as he’d get home to Rachel, Ranger longed to be on a mission again. Like he wasn’t supposed to settle down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shifted in her chair; that sounded uncomfortably familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now girlfriend,” Lula kept talking, “even with all that, Tank said he still respects Ranger for the person he is inside, and remembers good times along with the bad. He said he only recently figured out that Ranger kept escaping to missions so he could free his mind and find a way out whatever wasn’t working.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula snorted. “Seems obvious, but whatever. I'll never figure out what men talk about when they're on their own, but it sure ain't what's important. I mean, it ain’t a real conversation for Tank unless he can tell you about his cardio numbers. And most times I heard Ranger talk, it was about guns or cars.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie squinted, trying to put the pieces together in her head. "Okay, so besides the fact that Tank and Ranger are both communication-challenged, do you think Tank's right about Ranger, at least in general?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"See, now that’s kind-of a broad question. But generally, I think Tank oversimplifies to put everything into his neat 'guy' buckets. I gotta ask myself if Tank ain't spending a lotta time coming up with theories that justify why he’s right, and why it's such a noble thing that it’s a bit lonely on Tank Island."  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a brief pause, Lula continued. "Regarding Ranger, though, the stuff Tank says makes sense based on what I know of Tank, and what little I know about Ranger. And the idea that Ranger probably disappeared on missions to get his shit together, well that seems possible. I mean, you and I go shopping; Tank goes to the gun range; Ranger goes to Outer Escape-istan. Why not?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard scraping on Lula's side of the conversation, followed by the gentle grunt Lula always made when standing up. "But Ranger is still a principled man. We can all see that. Tank even sees it when he's on that soapbox of righteousness where he sometimes likes to stand and preach to the rest of us." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula snorted. "Just compare Ranger to his cousin Lester. Those two men surely grew up with a similar background, living just blocks from each other like their families did. But Ranger? Confusing and silent though he was, Ranger treated people fairly. I mean, I’m sure Ranger played the field," Lula continued. "Someone who looks that good and is that much a </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> ain't gonna to be all celibate. And he messed with your affections, that’s true, but I’m gonna say that you met him halfway. So I don’t agree with Tank that Ranger played you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard a door slam as Lula harrumphed. “But Lester? He's a dog. Which means he'd hump anything if the crotch is in reach. And from what I saw, he’d do or say anything if he could turn it into foreplay.” Lula paused. “And I confess that I used to think that was how all men were, so I didn’t treat ‘em any better. But that’s where someone like Ranger made a difference. On account of you could always tell that Ranger was trying to do right by people, so long as they deserved it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed, listening to the shuffling sound of wind brushing against Lula’s cellphone. “That’s something I’ve always known about Ranger from the start. And Lester, he even looks a little like Ranger, but he sure isn’t the same. So, yeah, I get what you mean.” Stephanie frowned at her thoughts while listening to the sound of Lula opening her car door.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait for a sec while the phone switches over to the car speaker,” Lula instructed. After a minute, her voice continued, slightly tinnier than before. “Now is this the best thing or what? The two of us, with actual jobs where we get to drive a lot and call people on the phone. Like jobs that were made custom for us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It is pretty awesome, I have to admit.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Course, I shoulda known back when I used to jump at the chance to go out driving around with you, though half the time we was getting the run-around and I knew as much about bounty hunting as a good alter boy knows what to do at a Lil’ Kim concert.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “I probably wouldn’t know what to do at a Lil’ Kim concert either. But, seriously Lula, I wish we had known that your reason for getting out of the Bonds office was to avoid Vinnie.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I gotta be honest. I also hated filing, which ain’t no secret. So Vinnie wasn’t the only reason for getting outta the office on a regular basis. It was boring with a capital ‘B.’ And I’ll tell you that almost anything was better than listening to Connie whine while she did her nails like twenty times a week.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But still, we would’ve thought of some way to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, girlfriend, for certain you would’ve tried. But you know, I managed to dodge that bootie-obsessed, livestock-fixated perv for over three years. And well, I needed that job so going toe-to-toe with Vinnie about the kinds of things he wanted to do with his ‘johnson’ might’ve gotten me fired.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie grimaced at the sudden image of her cousin Vinnie and his privates, Lula asserted, “I’ll tell you what: I had a verified employer and money, which got me my own apartment. And working in that office eventually paid my way through junior college. And then I got this job.” Lula paused. “So I guess what I’m saying is that you ain’t gotta carry everyone on your back. It was just enough that you were there as my friend. I wasn’t asking for anything more than that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a car horn started beeping in the background, Lula spoke louder. “But girlfriend, here’s the deal: all that shit with Vinnie is in the past. What you gotta care about is </span>
  <em>
    <span>right now.</span>
  </em>
  <span> This moment.” In a sly tone, Lula added, “And ‘right now at this moment’ you only got a couple minutes before I gotta hang up. So, what is it you really want to say before I gotta go?” Lula snorted audibly. “And, if the word ‘Ranger’ ain’t in the first sentence, I’ll know you’re still holding out on me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed self-consciously. “Okay Lula,” Stephanie sat up straight. “Seeing Ranger again after all this time reminds me of so much. I feel so much more alive around him, and happy.” Stephanie blinked back moisture as she continued, “Lula I </span>
  <em>
    <span>care </span>
  </em>
  <span>about him, and it hurts me to see him so weary. Every time I see him I want to reach out and hold his hand.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Lula replied, and Stephanie clearly heard the inference embedded in her bland utterance.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And yeah Lula, I won’t lie: Ranger is still the most handsome man I've ever seen. When he smiles full-on, I feel like a teenager with the world's biggest crush." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Lula's pointed cough, Stephanie rolled her eyes. "Okay, who am I kidding? He smiles, and I want to kiss him senseless, feel his hands all over me, and ride him like Secretariat." Stephanie paused, having gone a bit glassy eyed at that particular image. "But, Lula, he's still a mystery. Knowing more about him doesn’t really help, because all I see are reasons why he might just leave next week and never come back again." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie gripped her phone. "Well, no that’s not fair. He promises to stay in touch with me, with the look he always had when I knew he was making an ironclad promise. But, is staying in touch with him enough?” She nibbled her lower lip. “I worry that I’ll be in limbo again, unable to be satisfied with anyone else because Ranger is ‘out there’ somewhere.” Stephanie had a sinking suspicion that she’d just revealed her future, regardless of what Ranger did next. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Lula,” Stephanie moaned, “I'm confused. What should I do?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was a pause while Stephanie imagined Lula shaking her head the way she did when reviewing the foibles of humanity. Then Lula’s deep voice began speaking. “Well, now I don't rightly know what's the best thing for you to do relative to Batman—I mean relative to his royal badass 'don't call me Batman' self. It's not like I've got all the wisdom of the world, here. All I can tell you is my own advice, but you gotta do what’s right for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Stephanie shifted in her seat, starting to feel the hard plastic and uncompromising shape of her chair like a badly fitting shoe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Lula affirmed. “But I think maybe you should just do like you did with me when I was low and barely holding it together those few years in Trenton.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What? Drive around trying to apprehend lowlifes while eating fast food, shopping, and worrying about that gun you had stashed in your purse?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula laughed; a full-throated sound of amusement that made Stephanie smile despite her current discomfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Now leave my gun out of it,” Lula exclaimed with humor lacing her voice. “If your grandma could carry a Colt .45 in that overnight bag of hers that she called a purse, I get the right to carry a gun when chasing people who live on the wrong side of the law.” Lula chuckled. “And by the way I want to get whatever old-people pills they had your grandma on when I get to be her age, ‘cause she just did whatever crazy-assed shit she felt like and didn’t give a good God-damn what people thought of her.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Lula, you already don’t care what people think of you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, not as much as I used to, that’s true. But even if I don’t give a shit what people think of me, I just want to be having as much fun as your grandma when my knees are shot, my digestion talks back to me all day, and my skin is saggy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “I actually don’t think she was on any drugs; I think that was just the Mazur-Kazmer family wackiness taking over.” Stephanie made a face as she tried to ignore the sudden, unfortunate image of her grandma dancing in spandex in the Plum livingroom. “But Lula,” Stephanie spoke over her inner imagery, “what did you mean that I should deal with Ranger the same way I treated you back in Trenton?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s simple, girlfriend. You just showed me that I mattered to you. I mean, there I was: an ex 'ho who was eating her way outta depression and dressing her way outta some bad self esteem shit. But you just talked to me like we'd known each other forever. You visited me in the hospital when my own family didn't see any need to acknowledge my existence. You invited me into your life—crazy assed as it might have been—and you believed in me through a long stretch when I didn't believe in my own self.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In an amused tone, Lula continued, “Hell, you even put up with me trying to reinvent myself, as though I could really live in Hogwarts or sing in a rock band. You were just straight with me; not talking down to me like Connie sometimes did; not trying to hide me from anyone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nibbled her lip as Lula continued, “Maybe that's all that fine man camped out in your house needs. Maybe just show him you believe in him, be straight with him, and show him he's a part of your life.” Lula paused, then barked out a laugh before saying, “And maybe show him that you ain't gonna taser and handcuff him in his gym shorts again to Joe Morelli.” Lula snorted. “I'm just sayin'.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt herself blush. “Okay, not one of my finest moments.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You got that right,” Lula said over her low chortle. “And, girlfriend, maybe you gotta tell him how you really feel. Not that indirect public-TV shit like, ‘oh my friend it’s good to see you.’ You gotta remember: he’s male and can’t figure his way through the complex female mind. So, something more like ‘you big hunk of a man, there ain’t nobody else I wanna be with, I want you and I wanna get you naked and make you scream’.” Over her rumbling, low laughter, Lula added, “Now girlfriend, I guarantee you that would get results.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um yeah,” Stephanie could tell that her face was fire-engine red. “I’m not sure I could actually say that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you can fine-tune the words to say what you wanna. But remember that you don’t get a whole lotta second, third, and fourth chances in this life. Either you want the man, or you don’t. You can’t expect him to do all the work. And you already know this girlfriend: handsome men are both dangerous and clueless 'cause they never really had to work for it. Some of them don't even guess that they're supposed to. I don’t know where Ranger fits on the spectrum. But seems to me like maybe he needs clarity in the clinch, if you know what I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula pressed on, her voice suddenly soft. “But girlfriend, what you’ve got, right now, is a man in your home who you care for, who’s gone through a lot of shit, who you believe always tries to do the right thing, and who seems to always return to you. No matter what. Even if it does take him seven years.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lula grunted. “And now he’s deciding to stay with you when he probably could afford a hotel room. Hell, the man probably could buy the hotel. So I ask you again, do you want Ranger, as he is, in your life? ‘Cause it seems to me like you have a choice in your hands, right now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie was gazing at the beige wall in front of her while she imagined the scenes in Ranger’s life that Lula had described while they spoke. Then she envisioned the Ranger who’d sat at her kitchen table a couple of days ago, his expression guarded, his hands and face injured due to a miscalculation on his part. The Ranger who always had two guns and a knife, yet fixed her toaster and vacuumed her livingroom. The man who her daughters had immediately liked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The man whose hands she kept wanting to mesh with hers. Whose arms and body had answered hers as they’d held each other briefly in the hospital parking lot the other morning. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lifting her chin as though defying the air around her to disagree, Stephanie answered, “Yeah Lula, I want him.” Then, realizing it was completely true, she added, “I want Ranger, the way he is." Softly, almost to herself, she added, "I’m not sure how to make that work, yet. But I think Ranger wants to figure out how to be in my life, too. I really do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well girl,” Lula affirmed, “go get him. Ain’t nothing stopping you but your own self, as I see it. You never can succeed if you don’t try for what you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded to herself, then squared her shoulders. “Thanks Lula,” Stephanie smiled. “I’ve been going round-and-round in my head for days.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Only helped you get to what you already knew, like you always done for me.” Lula answered, then laughed as she added, “But next time, I really do want some of that over-sharing you’ve managed to dodge the whole time we been talking today.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie chuckled softly in reply, her heart full and almost tingly in a way she’d forgotten. She’d missed this feeling. Then she heard a ping and saw text racing down the big monitor on the table in front of the room. She knew her query had completed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Lula, I need to go. I’ll work on the over-sharing. Just for you.” They both laughed at that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still smiling after they went through their usual rituals while ending the call, Stephanie walked to the computer-room door. Opening it, she felt the brush of pressurized air from the computer room mingle with the normal office air from outside the door. Stephanie leaned out into the sounds of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen looked up. “Hey Plum, we got Yahtzee?” He asked, a boyish smile brightening his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yep,” Stephanie answered. Looks like lots of results to wade through. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, let’s get to it,” Winkelsteen stood, rubbing his hands together. Stephanie knew she was about to dive into one of the things she did best. Finding needles in haystacks of data. Finding answers for Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. The Dark of Night</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 20: The Dark of Night       </b>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger shook his head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’m tired of this goddamn shit.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>After jimmying the lock, Ranger stood looking into the shabby flophouse apartment, already knowing what he was going to find inside its silent darkness. The room’s coppery, tainted smell gave it away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was glad he’d had the foresight to enter the building through the back fire exit. Always good to look for entrances with no surveillance cameras, or even better where the surveillance camera had obviously been broken for awhile. The old tricks were sometimes the best tricks.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly checking the hallway, Ranger slipped into the apartment and locked the door behind him. Obviously a crappy lock, but the sound of someone trying to bypass it would give Ranger enough time to react. Now that the hallway door was shut though, the room was dark except for a slice of street light that came through the carelessly closed drapes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Exhaling as he bent to remove his shoes, Ranger remembered yet again why he was actively reconsidering his current business model. Too often it resulted in days like today, with him working the fringes of national security agencies, sifting through the trash and taking out the bodies. His old motivations—whether the true pride at defending his men and his country, the satisfaction and swagger at being able to use and demonstrate his abilities, or frankly the rush of success from his brain to his groin—well, they weren’t getting it done anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To put it mildly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, he found himself getting weary of the hustle; frustrated that his heroism didn't seem to be making the world measurably better. Frankly, in the dark of night, he felt a coiling in his gut that he had become one of those hard, battle scarred men with their goddamn Rambo sensibilities and cold eyes that he'd pitied as a young man. The men who'd forgotten how to return home, who couldn't stop fighting and so chose to remain in the fight in nameless deserts and jungles until they inevitably died, erased from the earth like bad dreams.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tucking his shoes into the backpack he placed against the door, Ranger considered his increasingly tempting thoughts about changing his focus to private investigator work. He acknowledged that he’d thought more intently about this possibility in the past few days, wondering if it could mesh with seeing more of Stephanie. Despite his current surroundings he felt a lightening of his heart at the thought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing in the entryway of the shadowed apartment, Ranger realized that he’d paused, absorbed in his musing. Which made him look again at the scene around him. He imagined the arch look that would be on Stephanie’s face if she were there to remind him to pay attention to his surroundings. Ranger grunted in dark amusement. Apparently Stephanie was riding mental shotgun in his mind again, the way she had in Trenton.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head to focus himself, Ranger changed from his driving gloves into a pair of thin medical gloves and flipped the wall switch. No light. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking on the balls of his feet to avoid leaving identifiable foot-sized impressions, Ranger padded over to a table lamp lying on the carpet and turned it on. Small favors: the bulb hadn’t broken on impact with the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the lamp’s stark light, he could see the entire apartment from where he stood. It was a dingy, one-room efficiency with a mini-fridge and hot-plate instead of a kitchen. Ranger had already catalogued the shared bathroom in the outer hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stepping carefully, Ranger approached the other side of the room where a body was sprawled in the corner beyond the radiator. He stopped just before the patch where blood had soaked into the ancient shag carpeting, overwhelming the existing grungy stains in a pool of darkness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The crime scene was self-evident to Ranger. From the damage to the back of the victim’s head, the blood spatter, and the dents in the plaster, it was clear that the man had been hit on the head with something hard and sharp. After being hit, the victim had hit the wall and, as he’d fallen, he’d half-hit the cast iron radiator. With that, he’d spun to hit the floor on his side, with his face down. To Ranger’s eye, it looked like the victim had been hit again, after falling.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whatever he’d been hit with, though, had been removed from the scene. It wasn't a professional job. But it must have been someone the victim knew; someone he trusted enough to turn his back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was fairly sure he knew who was lying in front of him, but he couldn’t afford to guess. Unfortunately, viewing the victim’s face meant disturbing the scene and leaving even more trace of his presence. Ranger pursed his lips, looking in vain for a kitchen chair to use as a lever. Finally he turned over the plank-style coffee table to make a path. Still on the balls of his feet, Ranger tread lightly down the underside of the table, stopping inches from the body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Kneeling, Ranger turned the downed man’s shoulders enough to see the remains of his face, and nodded. It was Krc. Despite the damage to his features, there was no mistaking that scar. From the condition of the drying blood and the partial stiffness of his body, he’d been killed a few hours ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded: it had probably happened shortly after Gerry had called Ranger to report seeing Krc enter the building with another man. Ranger was glad that his instinct had been to warn Gerry from following them further. He’d seen enough to know that Gerry was competent, and a quick thinker. But not someone who knew how to defend himself against a cold-blooded killer in a closed space.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down, Ranger noticed something shiny poking from Krc’s pocket where his hip was twisted off the floor. Pulling it out, Ranger grudgingly recognized his own cellphone, which had gone missing when he’d been jumped in Allston on Friday. With that discovery, Ranger crouched down and went through Krc’s other pockets more methodically. Money, subway tickets, counterfeit driver’s license, a ring of various unknown car keys, condoms. Ranger checked carefully, but nothing further tied the body to Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger meticulously returned everything to its original location except for his cellphone, which he pocketed. Standing, he scanned the sparsely furnished room. Spotting a wastebasket next to a battered desk, Ranger toed his way back to the start of the table, lifted the table to make a path to the desk, and then went over to look for any scraps of paper left behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time Ranger didn't find anything in the trash. He shrugged; maybe old dogs could learn new tricks after all. The crooked drawers on the desk were similarly empty. Leaning over the desk, though, he found a torn scrap of paper wedged against the wall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting to make out the scrawl, Ranger felt a moment of satisfaction. Half obliterated was a note to “Check on Hamidi.” The address was mostly ripped away, but Ranger made out part of a motel name, followed by the letters “FR.” It would be random to anyone else, but Ranger knew that Hamidi was the name of one of Figueroa’s sons, and guessed that “FR” was Fall River, where Ranger had been tracking Figueroa before. Ranger pocketed the note, planning to look up the address when he got back to his truck.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After determining there were no other clues by the desk, Ranger looked around and decided that the stained twin mattress in the corner was the final place to search. So he repeated his procedure with the coffee table and approached the mattress. When he pulled up the blanket shrugged over it, Ranger found a wallet and driver’s license between the mattress and an empty crate holding a bedside clock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lip twitch in cynical humor. Of course, it was his own wallet and driver's license. The one that had gone missing in Allston along with his cellphone. No credit cards or money left behind. Just enough to identify Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All told, Ranger concluded, this was creative but amateur. An experienced detective—someone like Morelli, Ranger acknowledged ruefully—would immediately recognize it as a plant job. Even so, simply finding his items at the scene would cause Ranger to be pulled in for routine questioning. So, it was a delaying tactic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger returned the plank table to its original position, matching the legs with the indentations in the carpet. Then he toed his way back to the worn wood floor near the door and peeked in the cube fridge. Nothing useful there. He opened a tiny closet by the front door and went through the pockets of the pair of pants and the old down jacket he found there. Also nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, pulling an abandoned curtain rod from the back of the closet, Ranger scraped the end across the carpet everywhere he’d been. Angling his head to make sure he’d obliterated the pressed pattern from the overturned table and any remaining footprints in the carpet, Ranger turned and picked up his backpack. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pulled out one of zip-lock bags of disguises. Quickly, with practice, Ranger dusted purple eyeshadow across his cheekbone, with a swipe of beige lipstick around the edges to hint at an old bruise. He finished up by laying a band-aid across the area. Considering for a moment, Ranger took a moment to also pencil-in his brows to look larger and meet in the middle over his nose. It wasn’t much, but it would throw off his facial geometry enough to obscure a quick identification. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding to himself, Ranger dug into the backpack again. He donned a hunter’s earflap hat that he’d found at the Salvation Army, then pulled his outside gloves over the disposables. After a quick peek, he stepped back into the hallway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he rounded down a flight of stairs toward the rear exit, Ranger mused that he’d never run into anything good in a building whose staircases featured broken lights and that reeked of stale urine. As if to prove him right, a crash sounded from the other side of the wedged-open firedoor, followed by what sounded like a muffled woman’s scream.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stopped and, without thinking, turned toward the door that led to the hallway where he’d heard the sound. Then he stopped. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Crap</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He couldn’t afford to be identified in a building with a dead body. Especially not after all the work he’d just gone through to remove the planted traces of his involvement. Just as he thought that, though, Ranger heard another smash followed by a woman’s shout. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fuck it,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ranger thought as left the stairwell and followed the sound. It was easy to find the door when he heard another crash followed by swearing in accented Russian. Ranger tried the locked knob quickly and then, after withdrawing his pistol from his shoulder holster with one hand, used his free hand to pull out the bump key he’d used successfully on the apartment upstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More muffled cries came from the apartment, and Ranger was tempted to just kick-in the flimsy door. Within a moment, though, he’d used his key to jimmy the lock and opened the hallway door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In a long-practiced move, Ranger continued his momentum sideways into the apartment. He scanned for threats even as he circled behind the stocky, red-faced man standing in the middle of the room. In a quick glance, Ranger could tell that this apartment was bigger than the one upstairs, with at least one bedroom behind a door on the other side of the room. In his periphery, behind a folding screen, Ranger catalogued a folding table with baggies, measuring spoons, and white packets. Someone here was a small-scale drug dealer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was no doubt in Ranger’s practiced view that the man was the threat in the room, and the small, bedraggled woman he was grasping by her arm was not. Ranger kept his gun at a ready position, though not pointing directly at the florid man, while he evaluated the man’s posture. The gun was basically for show; Ranger was determined to find a less violent, not to mention quieter way to diffuse the situation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, the man turned toward Ranger, still holding onto the woman who was cowering in nothing but her underwear. Ranger knew from experience that his own face conveyed nothing but unyielding, absolute menace. He continued to listen attentively for others in the apartment, and kept alert to changes in the lighting and periphery. Only a quick flick of his eyes, though, indicated Ranger’s parceled attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring Ranger’s expression—or perhaps too hardened to care—the flushed man glared at Ranger while the color rose even further in his face. Ranger nodded inwardly; he had met this type before. A bully; a man convinced that anger gave him an edge that nobody else could beat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The type of man who had underestimated Ranger before. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As though determined to meet Ranger’s low expectations, the man swore and then starting shouting at Ranger. In Russian-accented English he demanded, “What the fuck? You another trick, yes? This </span>
  <em>
    <span>sooka</span>
  </em>
  <span>, this bitch thinks she can do business in my place?” He shook the woman roughly, but she did nothing to escape. “I import her hooker ass from fucking Norilsk—which is giant freezing outhouse with shitty vodka—and this is gratitude I get.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Spitting while he shouted, then swearing in Russian, the man reached for a gun with the hand that wasn’t holding the woman’s arm. While the Russian was off-balance and both of his hands were momentarily occupied, Ranger lunged forward and cold-cocked him. The man fell like a sack of potatoes, dragging the woman to the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared up at Ranger, fear and shock warring on her face, and whispered “Who are you?” in Russian. She reached up to wipe a trickle of blood from her split lip, and Ranger noticed that she had bruises along her arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking in the halting Russian that he remembered from college, Ranger answered, “Nobody.” The woman’s eyes darted between Ranger and the man on the floor. Ranger returned his gun to its holster and then squatted down to be less threatening. Still in Russian, he calmly asked, “You trying to get away from him?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>For the first time in years, Ranger was glad that the antiquated National Security scholarship program he’d leveraged at Rutgers still favored cold war languages, like Russian. And, for once he was also glad that his Russian teacher had been Pakistani, giving Ranger a notable East Indian lilt to his Russian that had previously been the butt of jokes in the Army. Good for obfuscation now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he watched, the woman nodded shyly at Ranger. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Da</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she replied in Russian. “Yes, he is a bad man. He makes me work here, but I want to leave.” She looked down at her hand on the floor. “I’d give anything to leave here. Just don’t send me back to another pimp or gangster.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled. Looking around quickly, Ranger spotted some plastic zip ties of varying sizes. Standing to inspect them, he asked, “Do you have a place to go?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” the woman looked back up at Ranger, her dark eyes a clear mix of apprehension and calculation. “I met someone from back home. She said she would help me if I could get away from Oleg.” She looked down at the ruddy-faced man on the floor, whose hands Ranger was now securing behind his back with the zip ties. “I could go now, and get out of the way, if you let me put some clothes on. And if you let me give her a call.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked back up at Ranger, her features now obscured by her lank hair. As though Ranger needed more persuasion, she added, “You can have everything in this place; I think it’s worth a lot. Just don’t hurt me; let me go, please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled again. He had a sudden memory of one of his last infiltrations as an Army Ranger. Behind enemy lines, Ranger’s unit had freed a prisoner. Ranger had stayed behind to draw the pursuit of the second wave of guards that had appeared unexpectedly. After leaping down a fire escape and dodging through alleys, Ranger had ended up in the shelled, crumbling courtyard of a small apartment building. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d dashed into the building, expecting to run through it and continue the chase, only to find that it was full of people blocking his path. More specifically, more horribly, it was a makeshift brothel where insurgents had captured women and children and forced them into sex. Ranger found himself in what was probably a bedroom, with about fifteen sets of eyes staring at him from bare mattresses lining the floor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had been momentarily paralyzed as he’d taken in the scene. Then, the closest person—a girl who was maybe a year older than his own daughter—had looked up with expressionless brown eyes behind dull brown hair that half obscured her face. In a blank voice she'd asked him to not hurt them, please. That girl’s flat tone of powerless negotiation echoed in Ranger's ears as he listened to the Russian woman currently in front of him.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt nausea rise in his gorge, the way it always did from that memory. Usually it came to him when he was asleep, sneaking up in a nightmare that woke him in a sweat. It wasn't the only nightmare that visited him repeatedly over the years, and thank God this one had become less frequent. But here it was, in front of him, with a small chance to make it end differently this time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fighting his reaction, Ranger finished securing the man in front of him. With a boot in the man’s back and a tighter cinch than was strictly necessary, Ranger planned out his next move. He needed to leave this building quickly; whoever had killed Krc and taken the time to incriminate Ranger would want the body found. Ranger didn’t want to be anywhere nearby when that happened. Perhaps, Ranger thought, he could use this new mess as his own distraction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around the room quickly, Ranger leaned over for a rag and pushed it into the bound man’s mouth as a makeshift gag. He then patted down the Russian’s unconscious form and found his cellphone and wallet. "Do you know your friend's phone number?" Ranger asked the woman as he used the unconscious man’s finger to activate the "emergency call" option to bypass the phone's lock-out code. Ranger didn’t want to remove his gloves or leave a fingerprint to erase if he didn’t have to.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes, I have memorized it.” The woman reached for the phone. “I say it to myself every night, like a prayer." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good. Make it fast.” Ranger stood, letting her dial the phone, then he reached down and pointed to the speakerphone button. “I want to hear.” When she looked up, Ranger simply added, “Just to make sure,” wishing he didn’t have to make that request.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The woman nodded, then started talking into the phone. “Irina? This is Dasha,” she started as Ranger stepped away to let her talk. As he listened to the phone conversation, picking up as much as he could, Ranger quickly inventoried what he could see of the apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since the man lying in the middle of the room was in shirtsleeves, and there were take-out containers and a beer bottle in the room, Ranger was sure that the room would yield fingerprints tying the Russian with the small-scale drug operation apparent around him. It would be a good collar for some Boston cop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Quickly picking the lock on a set of lockers that were bolted into the wall, Ranger found what were probably the woman’s clothes and shoes in the bottom one. He brought them over to the woman as she finished her call and waited while she dressed. He then handed her a parka from the front closet and the money he’d pulled from the Russian’s wallet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the slim woman wrapped herself in the bulky coat, she mumbled, “I won’t tell anyone about you, so you don’t have to tell anyone about me, yes? I don’t want people following me; I just want to leave.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Agreed,” Ranger answered, still speaking only in his lilting, accented Russian. “Go out the front door. Walk to where your friend will meet you. Don’t run.” The woman looked at him quizzically as Ranger tried to translate his thinking. “Everyone walks. You look different when you run.” As she nodded, he advised, “Ignore the police if you see them. They aren’t looking for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger opened the apartment door and gestured her through.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thank you,” the woman answered, looking up. Ranger nodded in reply, briefly unable to speak after seeing the flicker of reluctant hope in her eyes. Then she turned toward the building’s front stairs. Ranger listened to her footfalls until he heard what sounded like the building’s front door open and close. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stepped back into the apartment and leaned briefly against the closed door. In retrospect, Ranger had realized that the worst thing about his recurring nightmare was the end. Because, even after Ranger had knocked out the handful of brothel guards and shown the building occupants that the doors were unguarded, fewer than half of them had fled. That was the moment when Ranger woke up, every time, realizing that they hadn’t needed to guard the building anymore because its residents had given up hope. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his heart beat briefly with the memory of the brief moment of brightness he’d seen, tonight, in the thin Russian woman’s eyes. Perhaps he had, indeed, changed the end of the nightmare, at least once.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at his watch, Ranger saw he’d spent almost ten minutes in the Russian’s apartment; he needed to leave ASAP. Leaning over, Ranger used the unconscious Russian man’s fingers once again to dial the phone, this time pressing the emergency number for the cops. Feigning a Russian accent, Ranger called in a drug tip for the building, giving the Russian’s room number and also the one Krc was in. While the dispatcher was still talking, Ranger opened the phone, pulled its memory card out, and tossed the now-useless phone on the Russian man’s back.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sprinting double-time down the rear-exit steps and entering the alley behind the building, Ranger was relieved that he hadn’t yet heard any yelling from the building or a police siren. He dropped the memory card he’d pulled from the Russian man’s phone and stomped on it until he was sure it was beyond repair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, watching carefully, he stalked as silently as a panther back the few blocks to where he’d parked his truck. Sure that he hadn’t been followed, Ranger unlocked and slipped into the driver’s seat of his truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not giving himself a chance to second guess his instincts, Ranger started driving. A few miles away—though a longer drive given his evasive path—Ranger spotted a small strip mall. Pulling in, he parked as far away from a light as possible. Ranger turned off the engine and sat for a moment in the silence, keeping his hands on the steering wheel while he steadied himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the time he’d been driving, it had started to snow. He watched the snowflakes drift down silently in the dark, while he inhaled and exhaled in the centering rhythm he’d learned so long ago in the Army Rangers. Finally feeling ready, he tossed the old Allston cellphone he’d taken from Krc’s room into a trashbag on the floor beside him, followed by the hat he’d been wearing as camouflage. Then he used a makeup wipe to clean the bruise disguise from his face, dropped the used towelette into the discarded hat, and tied the trashbag closed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reached into his backpack for his burner phone, planning to look up matches for the Fall River motel name he’d found in Krc’s room. At that moment, the phone pinged. Tilting his head, Ranger keyed in the unlock code, finding a link to a temporary message that only this phone's SIM ID could unlock. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even as he linked to the message Ranger could tell it was an update from his contact at Blackwater. Ranger listened to his contact’s disguised voice tell him that his requested investigation on how Mirko Krc got bonded to work at the Galveston dockyard was still underway. They’d found the paperwork; it was legit, but should never have gotten approved. His contact was probing further into how the process had been subverted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger squinted. This was similar to how Ranger’s Fort Benning contact had reported that Burc Aburek had been inexplicably cleared from the domestic intelligence list of foreign explosives experts. Ranger made a mental note to text that information to his Blackwater contact through another secure channel Ranger could still access. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the voice message concluded, Ranger’s contact added that, for what it was worth, Amadeo Djaleo had a cousin here in Boston. As the tinny voice conveyed the specifics of Djaleo’s cousin over the phone, Ranger recognized a fellow field operative. All the details telegraphed in efficient jargon, followed by hanging up. No wasted motion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No phone manners either. Ranger exhaled in brief amusement as he imagined Stephanie glaring in a huff at his phone. Somehow the thought of her, at that moment, lifted Ranger’s sense of exhaustion. He’d always felt lighter after talking with her, as though she cloaked Ranger in her wry amusement and unpredictability long enough for him to reset, lock and load.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stretching in place as he watched the snow start to fall in earnest, Ranger considered his options for tonight. He wanted to follow up on the Fall River tip, since finding Mateus Figueroa and his sons was his primary mission. But he’d been down that path before and still hadn’t managed to actually set eyes on Figueroa himself. So, if he could find Djaleo, perhaps trace him back to where he was staying and find him alone, Ranger was sure he could persuade Djaleo to point him to Figueroa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>One way or the other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps, too, a not-so-friendly conversation with one of the secondary targets might help him figure out what hell they were all up to in time to stop it. Ranger hadn’t forgotten Morelli’s tip about the blasting assemblies stolen from a Portland construction company. And Ranger had deduced himself that there were several explosives experts among the people he was tracking.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Making a quick decision, Ranger stripped the gloves from one of his hands and dialed Gerry. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Chief,” Gerry’s energetic voice answered. “What’s up?” he asked over the sound of a TV in the background.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a mark of Ranger’s mood that he didn’t even bother to remind Gerry to call him Ranger, not Chief. He did, though, spare a moment wondering whether he could at least train Gerry to say Boss, or even </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jefe</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Spanish, rather than Chief. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After only a brief pause, Ranger replied, “Sorry to call so late, but I got another lead to track down.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay lay it on me,” Gerry replied. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One of my targets—with curly hair, who keeps disappearing as soon as we try to track him—has a cousin who works evenings in Mattapan.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Gerry exclaimed as though Ranger had revealed a great wisdom. “So you think we could find Sparky hanging out with his family?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it in one,” Ranger replied, knowing that Gerry was using his own nickname for Djaleo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay text me the info,” Gerry replied energetically, “and I’ll see what I can do.” Without pause, Gerry added, “I can always record the rest of the ‘Storage Wars’ marathon for later. That’s some good TV. Though, if they really get rid of Darrell and Brandon I’m going to have to rethink it. I could totally see myself as Brandon. Nothing fazes him; the outtake where the storage locker was full of snakes was epic, dude.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger was glad he was sitting in the dark, as he could tell he was rolling his eyes. “I’ll text you as soon as we’re done. Keep track of your hours and we’ll treat it as at least an extra half day. But remember, just locate him and let me know what you find. Don’t engage; these guys are dangerous.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, I know. You tell me that every time we talk,” Gerry laughed. “Hey, speaking of dangerous, how did things go with </span>
  <em>
    <span>Il Brutto</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” This time, Gerry used the Italian nickname “the ugly one” for Krc. Ranger approved that, whether it was intentional or not, Gerry had naturally gravitated toward using coded names for people over the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not as expected,” Ranger answered brusquely. “I’ll tell you when we meet tomorrow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Chief, gotcha. Catch ya later.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger grunted affirmatively in reply, ended the call, and then texted the information about Djaleo’s cousin to Gerry. Having immigrated to the U.S. as a teenager, the cousin had a green card but was nevertheless scraping by on menial jobs. If payroll filings were correct, he currently had a job washing dishes at a run-down sports bar. Ranger nodded to himself: that was enough for Gerry to work with. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After finishing with Gerry, Ranger looked up the Fall River motel on his phone. He found six potential matches, and calculated it would take over an hour to drive to the first one. Looking up at the snow, he revised his estimate to be more like an hour-and-a-half, there and back, with time needed to check the motels. But, this was the type of job that needed to be done in person. A phone call would spook anyone he might want to find. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sat for a moment, watching plump snowflakes accumulate on the front of his car in the illumination straining its way from the light pole at the other end of the row of parked cars. They fell heavily on his windshield, splotting like tiny plantain slices dropped into a pan of olive oil. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Christ</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger thought, if he was imagining snow as </span>
  <em>
    <span>mariquitas</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as his abuela's plantain chips, he was hungry. It was already too late for dinner, and it was shaping up to be another long night. He looked across the stores at the mall and spotted a sub shop where he could pick up some food for the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger frowned and ran his hand through his hair. He should call Stephanie and tell her he’d be out late. He’d hoped to spend the evening with Stephanie. In fact, it was one of the rewards he’d secretly held out to himself throughout the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now… Now, he was worried. This evening’s events highlighted the exact scenario that had concerned him since he’d agreed to come home with Stephanie last Saturday. Just being around Ranger was a risk. How could he return to her house after seeing Krc killed?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his breath stop for a moment as he watched the snow fall, feeling suddenly chilled to the bone. He suddenly couldn't remember what it was like to be warm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then the headlights of a car swept the front of Ranger's truck, shining briefly along the windshield like the scanning turret lights on the security wall around Bagram airfield in Afghanistan, breaking his reverie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reached again for his cellphone. He wasn't aware that he'd actually dialed a number until he heard ringing, followed by Stephanie's voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Hello, is that you Ranger?" Stephanie’s voice called to Ranger </span>
  <span>t</span>
  <span>hrough the phone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Steph,” Ranger answered, settling back into his seat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Good to hear from you," Stephanie said, the smile in her voice like the flickering warmth of a match lit in the dark. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You too," Ranger replied vaguely, hoping he could keep Stephanie talking long enough to feel her light take spark within him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He needn't have worried. His Babe never let him down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So," Stephanie began, "I can confidently report that those donuts you brought us this morning, which were super yummy, have now all </span>
  <em>
    <span>finally</span>
  </em>
  <span> gone to the great cholesterol heaven in the sky. It turns out Lisa saved the last one for dinner, and just finished it. You are her hero.” Ranger heard running water and clinking in the background as Stephanie continued. “In case you’re wondering, though, storing a donut in your backpack all day without a napkin around it is not advised.” Stephanie’s light, melodic laugh teased from the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not something I’ve ever wondered about, but good to know,” Ranger answered, feeling himself dissipate like a mist into Stephanie’s world. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, if you were a Plum, you’d recognize this as fundamental life knowledge.” Stephanie laughed again. “In fact, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> be the case that I myself had my final donut stashed in my purse this afternoon. Wrapped in a napkin in the approved manner, I might add. And I </span>
  <em>
    <span>may</span>
  </em>
  <span> have eaten it in the computer room despite the signs saying ‘no food or drink.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt amusement stir in his chest as he heard a scuffing sound over the phone, followed by Stephanie’s muffled voice saying, “You didn’t hear that. Go check on your sister and make sure she’s really doing her math homework.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, “Is that Ranger?” sounded out, in a voice that was similar to Stephanie’s. “Hi Ranger!” he heard, recognizing it as Mary Alice. Before Ranger could respond, Mary Alice’s youthful voice called out, “Mom, tell Ranger that tonight’s song is ‘Luck Be a Lady Tonight’ from the Reprise years.” Then he heard Mary Alice start to sing, “Let’s keep this party polite, never get out of my sight. Stick with me baby, I'm the one that you came in with. Luck be a lady tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And apparently,” Stephanie started talking even before Mary Alice’s voice faded out, “knowing Sinatra lyrics is also fundamental Plum family knowledge, though it skipped a generation. At least, thank God, my dad never twirled around the house singing ‘Luck Be a Lady’ because that’s something I could never un-remember.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With you there Babe,” Ranger exhaled in humor, thinking that the sight of stocky, dour Frank Plum twirling through the house singing was indeed something Ranger could live his entire life without ever imagining again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mean, don't get me wrong. I like Sinatra, Tony Bennett, and all those guys. But it was old fuddy-duddy music even when I was growing up.” Stephanie inhaled, then continued in a more businesslike tone. “So Ranger, changing topics here. I did run a few queries on that national security data today, like I mentioned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find anything?” He asked, guardedly hopeful. He’d never met anyone better than Stephanie at searches. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing funky yet, but I have a few running tonight that might be more interesting.” Ranger listened through her pause, recognizing from her tone that Stephanie was collecting her thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger, I did discover that they all went to that same ‘English as a second language’ school in Minneapolis. That’s Djaleo, Aburek, Figueroa, and Krc—not Fennelly because he’s Irish and already spoke English when he got to America. But, I still don't get it because the other guys went to that school at different times.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Ranger answered. He watched the snow continue to fall against his windshield as he pondered. He remembered Stephanie’s initial discovery that Krc and Djaleo had probably attended the same ESL school, so had perhaps met there. But if the others attended at different times, there might be something about the institution itself. “Did you find anything else about the school?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yet,” Stephanie answered. “But I have a couple queries running on it, and its staff. Also, my friend Winkelsteen showed me how to cross-check with threats tracked for foreign students to see if there’s anything there. I should know more tomorrow; I’ll call you with what I find out.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger heard more noises over the phone, the snick of a door closing, and then Stephanie’s voice in the resulting hush. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Ranger,” she said, “Before I forget, I heard from Detective Breyer a couple hours ago that they secured a couple witnesses—kids from the neighborhood—who could describe the men in the car who drove to the shooting you're falsely accused of.” Ranger felt his breath hitch as he noted that Stephanie consistently, emphatically mentioned that Ranger had been falsely accused. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Breyer had a separate tip about that guy Krc,” Stephanie continued, “so he included Krc's picture in the suspect book. Each of the kids identified Krc as the driver. And the other guy in the car was too small to be you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good news, Steph. It doesn’t get me off the hook, but it’s something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, even though you were found in the car a half day after the shooting, you weren’t in it shortly before. It’s enough doubt so the detectives aren’t going to give up looking. At least Breyer won’t give up. They’ve been actively looking for that guy Krc all afternoon, though so far no luck.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself. That actually gave a plausible reason for why he’d just found Krc dead in the tenement. Having the BPD tracking Krc was what had changed. It was the same pattern as the men who he himself had been suspected of shooting. Eliminating people whose knowledge might be a liability if the police found them. People who, unlike Ranger, wouldn’t raise too big of a red flag if they were found dead.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he wasn’t about to tell Stephanie that the police had probably found Krc by now. Or that Krc wouldn’t be able to testify on Ranger’s behalf—one way or the other. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As another car swung by, Ranger realized that he should get back on the road. “Steph,” he started, “I gotta go. It’s getting late, and I have to follow a lead down to Fall River tonight.” He exhaled slowly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand,” Stephanie replied softly. “I wish you could be here with us, but it’s more important that you solve your case.” In a low voice she added, “You know, don’t you, that I believe in you? And that my home is always your home. You’re welcome back whenever you get here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sat in his car, surrounded by snow and dark but feeling tendrils of warmth teasing along his soul. More than anything, he wished he was driving back to Stephanie rather than returning to Fall River. Yet, he was unsure what to say. A man could live a long time avoiding entanglement and living within his code. A goddamn fucking long time, Ranger thought to himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, a small voice whispered seditiously in Ranger’s head, was it truly living or just surviving?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Steph,” he finally said. “Babe, that means a lot.” Grimacing in the dark of his truck because he knew that was a deflection, he inhaled and visualized Stephanie on the other end of the line. “Babe, I wish I could be there too. I do feel at home with you. But I gotta get on the road.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know Ranger,” Stephanie’s voice answered. “You need to get into your driving zone.” More gently she offered, “Stay safe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best. Good night Babe,” he murmured as he ended the call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger tapped the steering wheel for a moment; then grabbed the plastic bag where he’d discarded his disguise. He turned and exited his truck for the dumpster next to the sandwich shop at the other end of the strip mall. He purchased a couple of sandwiches and a large coffee, used the restroom, and headed back to his truck. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>In his head, Ranger remembered one of his Army Ranger instructors intoning: “In the field, on a mission, you don't get downtime, soldier.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>No shit.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger started his truck, he scanned through his playlists until he found the Bach. Ranger gave a mental salute to his friend Ignacio for setting up his truck just right. The strains of one of the Goldberg Variations started up as Ranger merged into traffic, headed toward Route 24, and began retracing his path back to Fall River. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drove, the snow falling in a veil across the night, Ranger imagined what it would have been like spending the evening with Stephanie. Through the years they’d known each other, they’d spent a number of evenings working with each other, and sometimes simply relaxing as friends. And, relaxing as lovers, though that was a different story. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whether he’d taken control of the evening or let it flow, he’d almost always found the time with Stephanie to be rejuvenating. He remembered back to some of those evenings as he drove through the obscuring snow. Memories unspooled as he drove south from the city into the night. Times spent together on stake-outs; evenings he’d invited her to join him for dinner; outings when he’d accompanied her as muscle. Moments he’d forgotten until now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noticing that he’d driven for over twenty minutes seeing only a couple other cars and a handful of emergency vehicles, Ranger looked at the clock. Considering how late it would be before he got back to Stephanie's home, Ranger’s thoughts strayed to the countless nights he'd slipped into Stephanie’s room in the quiet of late hours, silent as a cat. Times when he’d just watched her sleep from the chair in her bedroom. Nights that had been far too long, like tonight, or when he knew he'd be unable to sleep without the freighted dreams of his past. Nights when he’d woken from a nightmare and driven to her apartment afterward.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So many nights. A gift he’d grown to take for granted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sometimes, as they’d known each other better, they’d settled together in bed for nothing more than a peaceful night's sleep. Sometimes it was like watch rotation, as when she’d stayed with him during the break-ins to his business. Sometimes she would curl on him like a kitten and it was all he could do to not reach out and try to make it more. But, those nights had satisfied his soul in a way that even the many other times of sex had not done.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But yet, he wasn’t about to deny that the sex had been outstanding. He particularly remembered the time they were together in Hawaii. Days upon nights together, acting the part of newlyweds. Ranger felt his lip quirk in an unbidden smile: that had been sweet beyond measure. Yet he had almost been glad when Morelli had shown up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, not glad to lose the delicious closeness of Stephanie, body and soul. But, glad to break up the intimacy that threatened his code of “no relationships.” That had been his fundamental stance to women and family since his early twenties, and only Stephanie had threatened its integrity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drove slowly past the pinging of salt and the grinding scrape of plow trucks on the highway, Ranger remembered how he’d been almost grateful to Morelli for picking a fight after arriving in Hawaii. It had finally given Ranger the focus he’d needed to back away from the closeness that had threatened to overtake him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d almost been glad—though again, not quite—when Stephanie had left them both behind in Hawaii. Well, yeah, not so glad about being shackled in his board shorts to Morelli, taken to the police station, and having to deal with a swelling eye and a full-body “charley horse” from the goddamn taser. But, on reflection, he’d probably never live through another moment that was as perfectly symbolic of the personal life he’d created for himself in Trenton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he entered the industrial outskirts of Fall River—not so different from the rundown sections of Trenton—Ranger started thinking about the many reasons he’d kept himself distant from relationships over the year. And from Stephanie in particular. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This past night was a perfect example. He did a dangerous job; just being near Ranger put people in danger. After all: a man he’d been tracking had been killed today. Ranger himself had been set up for a murder rap. How dare he even consider going back to Stephanie’s tonight, after that?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, Ranger recognized with a brief scowl, in the past he himself had enlisted Stephanie on jobs that put her in danger. Like when he’d pulled her into Kinsey’s wedding to help him stop Orin, the homicidal lunatic from their former special forces unit. Or, Ranger thought soberly, when he’d relied on her help to clear him from murder allegations and stayed in her apartment while dodging the Ramos family, not to mention the cops. Christ, he’d even stayed in her apartment then. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, Ranger thought with a rush of memory that was as clear as the dashboard in front of him, he’d asked her to help when his daughter was abducted. He’d trusted Stephanie and put her in danger, and her eyes had held nothing but sympathy and gratitude. And, he hadn’t been sorry for her help then, or any other time. Quite the opposite, in fact.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes narrowed. Looking closely, his much-vaunted no-relationships code had always been shit, as far as his approach to Stephanie was concerned. It was a smoke screen. It was a fucking excuse, if he wanted to be honest with himself.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As to the danger he was putting Stephanie in now… he’d been through this earlier today in his mind. Figueroa—or whoever was pulling his strings—had set up Krc’s apartment to look as though Ranger had stayed there. Which meant that Ranger had hidden his tracks well, so Figuera didn’t know that Ranger was with Stephanie. They were probably setting up Ranger because they hadn’t been able to track him well enough for another bodega fuck-up.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which meant that Figueroa didn’t know that Ranger had a connection in the BPD. And that Stephanie’s house was probably the safest place for him to hide, especially since it was with full knowledge of the cops. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Assuming Ranger could get over himself, he thought with a scowl. After all, Stephanie had assured him that she was more security conscious than when he’d first known her. Hell, she made her kids take self defense; she even had a gun safe and knew what to do with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling up to the first motel that matched the partial name he’d found in Krc’s apartment, Ranger’s attention snapped back to the job. The motel was a non-descript concrete structure dating from anywhere between 1970 and 1990. A few cars were parked in the parking lot, with recent tire tracks dimpling the snow. Ranger saw the flickering blue light of televisions from behind drapes in a couple of rooms, while a yellow bug light identified the far door as the motel office.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling on a knit hat and checking his weapons, Ranger stepped out of his truck. This shouldn’t take long: this was obviously a “no-tell motel” where people went for quick hook-ups after the bars closed. Even if some homeless families were billeted here, any room with children would be memorable. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he walked to the motel office door, Ranger hoped that his luck had changed; he could use a break on this case right about now. With a low chuckle to himself, he realized he’d started to hear Mary Alice’s song in his mind. Having close to an eidetic memory, where he could recall exact phrases years later, meant that Ranger knew the lyrics. Ruefully he heard Sinatra’s voice in his head singing, “Luck, if you’ve been a lady to begin with, luck be a lady tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head: Mary Alice was just as uncanny as all the women in her family. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Luck be a lady</span>
  </em>
  <span>, indeed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, luck apparently wasn’t very lady-like, Ranger thought a few hours later as he quietly climbed the stairs and entered Stephanie’s hushed apartment. After five motels and several probing conversations and room searches, Ranger had finally found the motel room he wanted. Only to discover that he’d been about ten hours too late. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the theme of the day. And it was goddamned frustrating. But honestly, the ten-hour gap in time was closer to the missing Figueroa boys than he’d been since he started tracking them. That was something. And, he had a couple more leads in Boston. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which he’d have to track down after he got some goddamned sleep. Exhaling, weary to his bones, Ranger removed his hat and gloves, followed by his coat and boots. He then padded back toward the kitchen like a shadow in stockinged feet. As he entered the hallway toward his room, Ranger paused.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the way that had always baffled him, Ranger could feel Stephanie behind her bedroom door. It was like the memory of sun against his skin, or the feeling of electricity shivering against the air in the quiet moments after a storm. When he centered his hearing, Ranger could hear the light, rhythmic lull of her sleepy breathing. He knew that sound. So very well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her door was slightly ajar. Almost without thinking, Ranger turned to Stephanie’s room and ghosted through the opening, pulling the door closed behind him. After gently moving aside clothes from the side chair near her dresser, Ranger slowly lowered himself into it, his eyes focused on Stephanie’s blanket-covered form. Quietly, he removed his utility belt, holster, and guns, and settled them silently on the floor under the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he simply sat, watching Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt his lip twitch in a smile. Through the absent years, he’d never forgotten how Stephanie often looked like she’d been dropped into her bed in the midst of a dance. Though completely relaxed, with a slight hint of drool that Ranger found oddly endearing, Stephanie’s arms reached in different directions as though she was trying to embrace something the size of her house. Her legs under the blanket looked similarly suspended in action, and her hair coiled along her pillow like potential energy. Yet Ranger knew that she could lie this way for hours, turn, and form a new pose without waking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time, though, as Ranger felt the night taking hold of him, he saw Stephanie stir. He remained quiet, slowing his breathing. He wasn’t sure that Stephanie was going to think that this was acceptable; that Ranger was still allowed to come sit with her in the hollow of a long night while she slept. To simply rest in her presence, to calm his nightmares in the peace of her sleep.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, Ranger knew that sitting and watching her sleep without her knowing had never been a </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to do. If he’d had any doubts, Tank had let him know on repeated occasions. Yet, it had sometimes felt like the </span>
  <em>
    <span>only</span>
  </em>
  <span> thing to do, back when Ranger had known Stephanie in Trenton. Ranger held his breath.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger?” Stephanie’s soft, sleep laden voice asked as one of her arms swept her hair back. “Is that you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the calmness of Stephanie’s voice, Ranger let out his pent-up breath. “Yeah Babe,” he answered quietly, grimacing slightly at his reflexive use of her nickname in this potentially intimate setting. “I’m sorry that I woke you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Ranger, it’s okay.” Stephanie turned her head to glance at her night table. “Actually, I often wake for a little while at about this time.” She turned back to gaze at Ranger, and he could detect nothing but curiosity and amusement in her relaxed, half-asleep features. In other words: a purely typical Stephanie Plum expression. Ranger settled slightly in the chair.</span>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a gentle half-smile, Stephanie tilted her head. “But in Ranger time, is this an early morning start, or a late night visit?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Both, I guess.” Ranger rubbed his chin absent-mindedly as he suppressed a yawn, scraping the stubble like the reminder of a penance. “More late than early, though.” He looked down in the middle distance between himself and Stephanie’s bed. “It was just a really long night.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmm,” Stephanie answered, and Ranger could tell she was still looking at him. “Do you want to talk about it?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled. “Maybe later.” Ranger put his hands on his knees and leaned forward, ready to rise and head to his room. He didn’t want to talk about the night’s string of events, but he couldn’t think of any other socially-acceptable reason why he was in Stephanie’s room in the hour before dawn.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger it’s okay,” Stephanie said quietly. “You can stay if you want.” Ranger looked at her face and saw a shy smile. “I know you used to do this back in Trenton, even though you didn’t tell me.” At what was probably an expression of surprise on Ranger’s face, or perhaps apprehension, she laughed under her breath. “I remember that I could smell Bvlgari the next morning, or your deodorant. Sometimes leather. And sometimes the smell of that stuff you used for cleaning guns.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie reached out her hand in Ranger’s direction. Not sure of her intent, Ranger reached out one of his hands toward her, and felt the mercy of her fingers lacing with his. “Ranger, I figured if you wanted to talk about why you hung out with me while I slept, back in Trenton, you would. I assumed maybe you were trying to protect me. Maybe you were sad.” Stephanie’s eyes gleamed. “Or maybe you wanted company that didn’t ask all the questions that I do when I’m awake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt himself chuckle internally; he truly could never quite predict what Stephanie would say. Or what she knew.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Ranger, I also eventually figured out that you sometimes talk through actions, not so much with words. And I get that.” She gently pulled her hand away and pushed herself slightly up in bed. “I just have one question, though.” She looked down at her hands, which she’d folded together in her lap, and unconsciously nibbled her lip. After a pause, she asked “Are you here to tell me that you’re leaving now?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger could hear the slight quaver in Stephanie’s voice, which she was obviously trying to hide. Feeling suddenly tense, Ranger answered quietly, “No Babe, not yet.” He inhaled, wondering at the fact that he had to remember to do so. “Not unless you want me to leave.” He smoothed his face to show acceptance, without revealing anything else. He added, “I would understand if that’s what you want.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked back at him, her eyes almost looking bruised for a brief moment in the dark, a faint line wrinkling between her brows. “Ranger,” she began. Then after a pause continued, “I don’t want you to leave.” She looked down, “I miss this.” Then she looked back up at Ranger and added, “I mean, I really miss having you around, in my life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reached out for his hand again. “And I also miss that you used to feel comfortable enough to do this. To stop by my room and be with me while I sleep. Even though it’s probably weird, it just feels right.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It feels right to me too,” Ranger answered in a quiet voice. Looking beyond Stephanie for a moment, to collect his thoughts, Ranger could see Stephanie’s vanity mirror with its picture of Grandma Mazur half visible in the gray light of the room. He imagined his Abuelo Santos smiling back at Stephanie’s eccentric grandmother, and then both of them turning toward him with wry, watchful expressions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clearly he needed to sleep. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, before that, he needed something else. So, looking back at Stephanie he said, “I missed this too.” Ranger paused; that was not nearly good enough. So he pushed on. “I missed </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Babe. I should have called when I came back to Trenton.” He looked down. “I guess in some ways I thought you’d left Trenton to get away from the cock-up that Joe and I made of your life. But I should have checked.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt a flicker of wry amusement at how “teenage romance novel” his reason sounded, which he didn’t try to hide. “And well, I had some other reasons too, that were hopefully more mature than that.” He looked again at Stephanie’s gently amused face, latching his gaze to her sky blue eyes. “But I should have called you. No matter what. I should have found out from you what was going on. And I’m sorry I didn’t.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger ignored the stinging behind his eyes, chalking it up to exhaustion, while Stephanie said, “Ranger, I forgave you a long time ago.” She straightened slightly, her eyes kind yet focused. “I care about you Ranger,” she said. “I finally figured out that you’re human, kinda like the rest of us.” Looking down briefly, Stephanie added, “And Ranger, I’m sorry that I messed things up with you and Joe to the point where you wouldn’t know that I do care. That I always want to hear from you, no matter what.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she looked back at Ranger and reached out her hand again. Ranger looked down at her upraised palm as though it held something precious, and then wrapped it in his larger hand. She squeezed gently, and he lightly caressed the back of her hand with his thumb in reply. They sat that way for several moments, though neither of them noticed the passage of time. Finally, Ranger couldn’t stifle his yawn.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A shy smile drifted across Stephanie’s face. “I have almost a half hour until I need to get up.” She pulled gently. “Come, tell me about your night, the way you used to.” She backed up in the bed and lifted the blankets slightly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger straightened. “Stephanie,” he murmured, wondering if he actually had fallen asleep in her chair and was dreaming. Or perhaps he’d just woken up and missed something. “Are you sure?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger. Just talk to me. Whatever you want to say.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stood slowly and then sat on the bed, keeping his eyes on Stephanie. He settled down next to her, still fully clothed, but pulled the blanket over himself. Stephanie scooted against him, her back to his front the way they’d nestled together so many times in the past. He suddenly felt the way he imagined a cat felt when it purred.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had never told anyone that he did this: just holding his Babe close all night with that being the whole point of it. As someone who prided himself on his masculinity, with a reputation for virility that he’d heard plenty of times, it wasn’t something he wanted to discuss. He’d even wondered if this was a symptom of the problems he knew he had with sexuality. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he never had any issues with the act itself. Never a problem there. The trouble was with the intimacy and connectedness he was supposed to feel afterward. He knew from poems and songs what it was like. His family had been demonstrative so he knew he should feel it. Hell, he could tell even Tank felt it with the right lady. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now he sensed in his core that this—holding Stephanie just to be with her—was perhaps the only time he felt intimacy in the right way. Entwined with Stephanie, his strength around her, with her feminine musk around him, he felt whole in a way that he’d completely forgotten. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie’s gentle voice half whispered, “Tell me about your drive to Fall River. What did you listen to? Were there any other cars on the road?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger inhaled, drawing in the scent of Stephanie’s hair, and started talking. As she had asked, he told her about his drive, describing the seemingly endless passage on near-empty highways through hypnotic falling snow. Then he talked about going from motel to motel, following the lead he’d gotten, though he didn’t divulge where he’d gotten the motel name. He described some of the quirky people he’d met, knowing she’d enjoy it, and felt her quiet laugh against his chest. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie murmured encouragement, Ranger described finally finding the right motel. Though he didn’t tell Stephanie how, Ranger had convinced the night clerk to tell him about the woman and children who had checked out mid-afternoon after having stayed about a week. Though the family name on-file was clearly fabricated, the first names matched the names of Figueroa’s two sons and also Djaleo’s wife and children. Noting the bogus address on file, the clerk had confided that he’d overheard the woman say that her husband was in Boston.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger spoke, Stephanie made sympathetic sounds in response to his discoveries. Ranger felt the disappointments of the day drop away bit-by-bit, like dried mud falling from his skin. So he continued telling Stephanie about the motel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The clerk had been able to give Ranger the licence plate and model of the car that the woman had arrived in, though it hadn’t remained at the motel. The clerk had also let Ranger into the vacated room, from which Ranger had collected receipts and any paper he could find, for review after he slept.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While talking quietly in the dark, Ranger tried to keep his frustration from his voice. He glossed over the less savory details, along with how numbingly tired he was on the drive back. He omitted the time he’d spent in the motel parking lot, sitting motionless in his truck while he wondered if he should simply stay the night, keeping his darkness away from Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nor did he divulge the extended moment when he briefly evaluated how he would replace all of the items he had in his room at Stephanie’s if he were to leave them behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead Ranger simply confessed that, after investigating the motel, he wanted nothing more than to return back to Stephanie’s house. He felt Stephanie’s grip tighten around his arm that was holding her, and he pulled her closer to his chest. Quietly, half asleep, Ranger whispered that all he wanted the whole evening was to be with Stephanie. And that, seeing her when he returned—seeing her sleeping peacefully—had made the rest of the night bearable.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie turned in his arms to look at him. Her gaze in the gray half-light of the early morning was a deep cobalt blue, earnest and searching. “Ranger, I’ll always be there for you, if you let me.” She bit her lip, but didn’t look away. “We still have some things to talk about, after all these years.” She smiled bashfully. “But I want to try, Ranger. I want to have you in my life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too Babe,” Ranger answered truthfully. It’s what he would have said even if he wasn’t far too tired to lie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Ranger heard a click followed by music. Some pop song that Ranger didn’t recognize started midstream, while Stephanie reached over Ranger and slapped the radio repeatedly until the music stopped. “Oh jeez! I’m sorry Ranger, I forgot to turn off the alarm.” Stephanie looked down breathlessly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Kinda figured that out Babe,” Ranger answered slowly, eyebrow raised and attempting to project the unruffled demeanor that he knew Stephanie had always found amusing. As Ranger started to get up, Stephanie pushed back on his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, you can stay here if you want. You look totally done in, and it would make me happy to think that you’re all tucked in safe.” She sat up, then stood slowly from the bed. After a brief hesitation, she leaned over and kissed him quickly on the forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Ranger knew that he was going to take her up on her offer to stay put. Partly because he was so tired that he hadn’t even had time to react to her chaste, soft kiss. Partly because the thought of sleeping in her bed suddenly filled him with contentment. “Thanks Babe,” he mumbled.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger closed his eyes and listened while Stephanie quietly poked and puttered in the room. Then her voice interrupted his floating thoughts. “Ranger, I have a morning stand-up today, so I’ll be leaving as soon as I get the girls off to school. I’ll check on you before I leave, but call me when you wake up.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger grunted affirmatively, figuring that he’d remember what she’d said after he woke up, and make sense of it then. As Stephanie closed the door quietly behind her, Ranger relaxed back into the bed, her scent surrounding him like a balm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The beginning streaks of daylight painted the snowy ground outside as Ranger finally fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0021"><h2>21. The Light of Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 21: The Light of Day</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stomped the moist, heavy snow off his CAT boots before opening the restaurant door. Icy clumps fell from his knit hat as he shook it off prior to entering. It had felt good to shovel out Stephanie's driveway and sidewalk, but he was seriously going to look into getting her a new, more ergonomic shovel or two.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even with Stephanie's wobbly shovel, though, Ranger had been relieved to have a purely physical effort to concentrate on for a change, and had worked up a satisfying hunger. He knew that Stephanie had stocked her kitchen for his visit, but he also knew she didn’t have the kind of money Ranger had accumulated over the years. Now that he had access to his accounts—not just bundles of cash delivered in ways to evade money-laundering detection—Ranger could at least help by buying some of his own meals. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His true motivation, though, had been finding this restaurant late last night, after finally parking his truck. Frankly, if the restaurant had been open at zero-dark-thirty when he was on his way to Stephanie's house, he might have detoured in, half asleep as he'd been. And until just now, he’d half convinced himself that he’d actually been asleep and dreamt the name of this restaurant, </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Oriental de Cuba</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It just seemed so unlikely to find a Cuban restaurant with that name just blocks away from Stephanie’s house.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as he opened the door and stepped into the warm entrance, Ranger was caught up in the scent of his childhood. Foremost among them, he smelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>sofrito</span>
  </em>
  <span>: the sauteed onions, green peppers, garlic, oregano and bay leaves that he recognized as the root of so many Cuban dishes. He detected the undertones of the slow-cooked beef in Ropa Vieja, the waft of olive oil dancing delicately with lime juice, and the blush of sugar. And, of course, the Cuban </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecito</span>
  </em>
  <span> version of espresso. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was as though he’d stepped from the snowy Boston landscape through a door that led directly to Miami. Ranger stopped for a moment to get his bearings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was a bit after the noon rush but several of the tables were still occupied. A woman behind the cash register handed Ranger a menu and waved him into the restaurant, telling him to sit wherever he wanted. Cataloguing the people around him, Ranger made his way to a table against the wall. He sat down while shrugging his parka off onto the back of the wooden chair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Near the door to the kitchen, Ranger scoped the path to the restrooms and the front door. Unconsciously he mapped the location of potential secondary weapons and distractions that would be available if needed: silverware, of course; trays and tray stands; hard plastic pitchers that could be thrown or used as a short club. Though more crowded than Ranger liked, restaurants were always reasonably defensible public locations.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger perused the menu briefly, but already knew what he wanted to order. Meanwhile, the sounds from the counter—and the kitchen behind it—rang out in a muted, lively mix of English and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cubano</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Cuban Spanish; it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>el idioma</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the language of his family that was achingly familiar to Ranger. The sounds in the background were like those of any restaurant on Miami's Calle Ocho in the siesta hours between late lunch and </span>
  <em>
    <span>la cena</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the mid-evening dinner shared with family and friends. At least in traditional </span>
  <em>
    <span>cubano</span>
  </em>
  <span> families.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around at the decor, Ranger's sense of having been transported out of the snow into Miami was magnified. Faded posters of Celia Cruz, Tito Puente, Arturo Sandoval, and a young Gloria Estefan hung on the walls. Interspersed were newer photos of Cuban baseball players looking flush and anointed in their new American uniforms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Behind the cash register Ranger saw an ancient, magnified photo of Havana’s pre-revolution La Tropicana Club, with inebriated dancers and revelers frozen in time like a portrait of one of the final parties before Castro. As though that lifestyle was something positive to remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, there was the framed photo of Ronald Reagan with a miniature U.S. flag tacked above it. Ranger’s eye scanned down slightly and noted the tacked-up picture of Pitbull in concert in Miami. Ranger snorted in amusement; he spared a moment to wonder what Reagan—The Gipper—would think of being memorialized right above the Cuban-American rapper who called himself “Mr. Worldwide.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged: probably not the strangest photographic neighbor the former president and actor had, after all.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More compelling for Ranger was the enlarged picture of families strolling the Malecón esplanade. A concrete breakwater, it traced the northern Havana coast, weaving like an aging hostess from genteel yet crumbling turn-of-the-century constructions to modern steel and glass hotels built with new tourist money. The meeting place for all </span>
  <em>
    <span>habaneros</span>
  </em>
  <span>, all residents of Havana from all walks of life, the Malecón had always captured Ranger’s imagination.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course he recognized it instantly. He’d seen countless pictures of the Malecón over the years; the one in his childhood home was cut from a magazine, with an ancient yellow, finned Buick driving past and the Havana Bay stretching into the distance. Darkly amused, Ranger considered that it was entirely likely that the vintage Buick was still in use in Cuba long after its owners had likely fled across the Straits of Florida to settle in Miami.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Ranger was interrupted by a slim young</span> <span>man who put a glass of water on the table. “Ready to order?” he asked, pulling a pad of paper from the apron at his waist. “Or do you need help with the menu?”</span></p>
<p>
  <span>“No, all set,” Ranger answered, as he proceeded to order the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Medianoche sin jamón</span>
  </em>
  <span>—the classic Cuban pressed sandwich on the slightly lighter egg bread that Ranger preferred, ordered without ham. Then he asked whether the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Congrí </span>
  </em>
  <span>was authentic red beans and rice using the eastern Cuban recipe. Ranger guessed it was the latter since the restaurant name meant “Eastern Cuba.” Ranger knew, though, from experience that if he didn’t check he’d probably get </span>
  <em>
    <span>Moros y Cristianos</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the black bean dish popular in Western Cuba. Which was fine normally, but Ranger felt oddly hungry for the food of his childhood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger's question, his waiter smiled broadly and switched into Spanish. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eh asere, claro que sí</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he answered, basically saying “dude, of course” in a way that hinted that the waiter also had a Cuban background. The waiter then told him that the recipe was his abuela’s own favorite, which had been a staple since she and her husband had first opened the restaurant.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While continuing to write down Ranger’s order, the young man told Ranger the abbreviated story of how his grandparents had migrated to the Boston area seeking work, and how they’d finally saved enough money to open their own restaurant. “The American dream, eh?” the young man had asked, laughing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had nodded noncommittally as the waiter walked away. Then he’d been surprised when the young man returned moments later with another glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thought you might like an </span>
  <em>
    <span>agua fresca </span>
  </em>
  <span>to drink with your meal,” he said, putting it down on Ranger’s table. With humor in his light brown eyes, the waiter added, “It’s made with guava today; real Caribbean ‘home style.’ First one’s on the house.” He smiled as he strolled back to the kitchen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger frowned; he was was uncomfortable with being singled out and known. But yet, he admitted to himself, he’d come in seeking an echo of the comfort of home. And he well knew that Cubans anywhere gravitated toward other Cubans. So, shrugging, Ranger decided to let it go. If people knew him in this one enclave, it was no different than when the staff at Shorty’s had known him, or the regulars who knew him at the dive bar he recently frequented a few subway stops from his place in SoHo.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With that, Ranger stretched his legs out under the table, and took a sip of the</span>
  <em>
    <span> agua fresca</span>
  </em>
  <span> that was like a liquid memory. He felt relaxed, and he knew it wasn’t just the evocation of youthful comforts. He felt truly rested for the first time in weeks. Well really for longer than that. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had taken Gerry’s near-noon phonecall to wake him. Startled into consciousness in Stephanie’s room, Ranger had taken a couple of unaccustomed moments to get his bearings. Fortunately Gerry was able to plow through Ranger’s distraction, providing an update on his still-in-process trace of Djaleo’s cousin in Mattapan. After ending their brief conversation on their mutual priorities for the day, with Ranger opting for more of the late and dangerous work, he’d gotten up for a hot shower and shave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Under the running water, surrounded by the scent of Stephanie’s soap and the underlying perfume of her skin, Ranger couldn’t help but imagine what it would have been like to be in the shower with her. He’d indulged himself, imagining that his soapy hands on his skin were hers, remembering how she had always been warm and responsive for him. Recalling the feel of her sinuous body moving against his.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As the rivulets of warm water contributed their sensuous caress along his back and thighs, he hadn’t lasted long. Not as long as he would have tried if he were truly there with Stephanie.  Nevertheless, the release had been exquisite; enlivening and relaxing at the same time. Though he had already felt unusually rested since the time he’d woken up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finishing his shower, Ranger had reflected that it had been a long time since he’d crashed as completely as last night. At least, without a few shots of whiskey first. He knew it had partly been exhaustion; he could push himself further than most people, but even he had a limit. But, he also knew it had been the pure animal sense of safety he’d felt in Stephanie’s room, in her bed. It was the solace he’d felt watching her sleep, talking with her, and then being trusted by her so completely.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>No woman had ever provided that type of peace; only Stephanie. For whatever unexpected, perplexing, miraculous reason. As he dressed, Ranger realized that he’d managed for several years to profoundly suppress his memories of the comfort he found with her. Probably, he shrugged, because he had always assumed he couldn’t truly have her in his life. And, after they’d both left Trenton, that had indeed seemed true. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More alert, he’d headed to the kitchen for a cup of tea. He’d budgeted about an hour for some time at the laptop to check emails, look up addresses, and do some other research before heading out. That’s when he'd found the lumpy paper, wrapped like an impromptu envelope on the kitchen counter, labeled "For Mr. Ranger" in a neat, childish print. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he'd opened it, Sarah's old fashioned St. Martin's Army medal had fallen out, with its chain snaking out behind it. He'd been sufficiently surprised that it had taken him a minute or so before he noted the carefully printed note inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"</span>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Mr. Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>," it had begun in block letters. "</span>
  <em>
    <span>I was sorry to hear from Mom that you had a hard night. Here is my medal that you can wear today. You're away from home like Great Grandpa Mazur when he wore it to remember he was both brave and good. I think it helped him remember to come home to us, too, so it can help you remember all those things when you wear it. Yours truly, Sarah.</span>
  </em>
  <span>" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had sat at Stephanie’s kitchen table, staring at the medal for awhile. He’d felt a sting in his eyes, which he admitted privately to himself might be unshed tears, though he wasn’t sure precisely what they were for. That said, he had been momentarily overwhelmed that this little girl who barely knew him had lent him one of her most cherished possessions, hoping to keep his soul safe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had the flash of a memory—more like an ache—of the time his daughter Julie had given him something. She'd been a toddler, back before Ranger’s ex-wife had more children with her new husband and had decided that visitation was not a good idea. Ranger still had Julie’s gift: a plastic Mutant Ninja Turtle that she’d gotten in a box of cereal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With serious brown eyes that mirrored his own, Julie had reached up with one chubby hand to give it to Ranger. She'd said the turtle was really Ranger because he fought against evil with his friends and he wore Army ninja clothes. The fact that Julie had obviously chewed it a few times before giving it to Ranger had made it even more precious. It was one of the most personal gifts Ranger had ever been given. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting at Stephanie's table, staring at Sarah's medal had reminded him of waking in the hospital to realize you’d survived a bomb or an explosion against all expectations. He’d had more than a few of those experiences, so recognized the sense of unreality he was feeling; the awed discomfort of having received a gift without meriting it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, Ranger had felt more than a quiver of discomfort for the moments he’d spent during the darkest hours of the previous night considering how to avoid coming back to Stephanie’s house. To her family’s home. To the home to which Sarah evidently was trying to get him to return.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had slid the chain over his neck and put the medal under his shirt, where the oxidized silver quickly heated over his breastbone, near his heart. Ranger wondered idly how Sarah was wearing her Star of David pendant today, but was sure the resourceful girl had figured out a way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he scanned the restaurant around him, Ranger reached up to touch the medal through his shirt, deeply moved that Sarah wanted to remind him to be brave and good, and to come home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Ranger thought, simply sitting in this restaurant was a version of coming home. It was the result of a journey that he now understood had precipitated the implosion of Rangeman and had taken him from Trenton to Miami, from there to Puerto Rico, and now up in New York. Darkly amused, Ranger acknowledged that, unexpectedly, the journey had also led him here. To a Cuban restaurant in Stephanie’s Boston. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But finally, after so many years it felt comforting and right to be in such a Cuban setting, without the almost reflexive sense of being on guard that he’d felt most of his life. He knew, finally, that he’d come to terms with the contradictions, pride, and pain that his heritage brought him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around, Ranger could almost see the old men with wrinkled hands playing dominoes in Maximo Gomez Park in Little Havana. He could almost hear his grandparents Rosa and Ricardo Santos in in the kitchen of their tiny house in Newark before Ranger’s life had gotten so complex. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger spared a moment wondering what his life would have been like if his Abuelo Santos had lived into Ranger’s adulthood. Ranger had long ago figured out that the old man’s death had been part of what had unmoored Ranger in his early teens. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As a slim, fine-featured boy, the young Ricardo Carlos Mañoso had spent the better part of his youth defending himself and mostly evading the worst of the neighborhood toughs, though there were humiliations he’d never revealed even to his abuelo. But yet, the old man’s hard-earned wisdom and gentle fierceness had always been a bulwark for Ranger’s soul, giving the boy the measure of what a true man was like.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, Ranger acknowledged to himself as he sipped on his </span>
  <em>
    <span>agua fresca</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his slide toward juvenile delinquency might have been inevitable. After all, the lure of having what seemed like friends, young hoodlums who protected him on the streets, had been too strong to resist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s attention was diverted by an old man who sat down across from him, his light cedar complexion bearing a map of laugh lines. The man set a cup in front of Ranger. It was a Cuban-style </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecito</span>
  </em>
  <span>; the scent of espresso under the sugar blended like a half-remembered song. Ranger eyed the cup with appreciation, noting the sugar </span>
  <em>
    <span>crema</span>
  </em>
  <span> swirled on top in a pattern. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Welcome my friend,” the gray haired man said in Cuban-accented Spanish, setting down his own cup on the table. “I don’t recall seeing you before. My grandson says you are from the East of Cuba, as we are. It’s always good to meet someone else from back home.” The man sighed loudly with apparent comfort, running his fingers through his wiry gray hair and then loosening his cook’s apron to settle back against the chair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger tilted his head. “I hate to disappoint,” Ranger replied in Spanish, drawing on his manners as he took a quick sip of water. “But I was born in New Jersey, not Cuba.” Ranger put down the glass of water and picked up the diminutive </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecito</span>
  </em>
  <span> for a small taste. Ranger nodded in recognition of the balanced sweet froth and dark coffee flavor. Normally he wouldn’t drink anything this sweet, or this caffeinated, so early in his day. But today it seemed right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man shook his head at Ranger as though correcting a child. “It doesn’t matter where you grow up.” He gestured graciously with his hand as he continued speaking. “You know what it means to be from back home. You speak with the accent of home, you know the right food to request, and you know to clean your palate with water before the first sip of our sweet and bitter </span>
  <em>
    <span>café cubano</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man nodded with satisfaction as he concluded. “You grew up Cuban, my friend. From the sleepy eastern provinces, just like me. Just like my family.” He then picked up his coffee and took an obviously contented sip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Perhaps,” Ranger temporized. “But I’ve been told that the measure of a man is what he does, not where he’s from,” he added almost conversationally, taking another sip of strong, sweet coffee.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man laughed with a slight cough. “Ah yes, well blocked,” he said as though Ranger had just defended a clever play at dominoes. Ranger pursed his lips in amusement; his earlier daydream of men playing at tiles in Little Havana was perhaps more accurate than he’d imagined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man leaned forward with his elbows on the table. “You are right, of course. A man is not virtuous simply because his ancestors came from one place or another. The old Spanish may have thought that,” the old man laughed with a gleam in his eyes, “but then they mixed with the rest of us and we showed them the error of their ways.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger eyed him over his coffee cup, the gray-haired man laughed again slowly, then continued. “We Cubans, we come from everywhere. We’re not just the Spanish who so-boldly claimed the island,” the old man gestured at himself, acknowledging his own partly Spanish features.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sparkle in his dark eyes, he continued, “We’re also Afro-Cubano, the English who decided to stay on our warm shores, the Chinese who fought for Cuban independence, the people who came to escape the Nazis, and the Indians who were always there,” the old man paused, nodding at Ranger. “People from so many different places. And together we made something totally new. We made Cuba. And Cuba made us.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You may be right," Ranger replied neutrally, putting down his </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecito</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He gestured to the window in front of the restaurant, where fat snowflakes continued to drift down in the weak mid-day light. “But when I look outside, señor, I don’t see Cuba.” Then Ranger nodded his chin toward the wall of pictures to his right. “And when I look at myself, I don’t see Andy García, Pitbull </span>
  <em>
    <span>or</span>
  </em>
  <span> José Martí. And thanks to God I don’t see Desi Arnaz.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused, noting the patient amusement on the restaurant owner’s face across the table. Sitting back slightly to mirror the older man's posture, Ranger added, “Being Cuban is probably the only thing they have in common with each other, or with me. It’s true that I grew up in a Cuban family and spent enough years in Miami to know what it's like to actually be from Cuba. But it doesn't define who I am."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yes," the old man agreed from his side of the table. “As you said earlier, my friend, we are responsible for the men we’ve become. After all, the good Lord gave us free will so we'd have the ability to screw up, so the choices along the way are ours to make. Informed, of course, by our morals, experiences, and sometimes the grace of God.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man reached a work-hardened hand up in a gracious gesture of apology. “You will forgive my boldness, my friend, but I think you are the type of man who's spent most of his life making his own way. You have a military bearing, so I imagine you've traveled the world and seen much more than an old Cuban-born restaurant owner like me.” He nodded at Ranger. “Though I remember Cuba as a boy, and remember seeing people who look like both you, and also me, working together in the fields.” He nodded at Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So here’s what I think,” the old man leaned forward, his eyes serious in his wrinkled face. “I think we all start somewhere. We have roots. They echo through our families and we learn them with our mother’s milk and our father’s example. And if you don’t remember that, and know that’s where some of your choices start, you’re missing part of the puzzle.” He leaned back again, shrugging. “At least I think so, my friend.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I won’t argue that point,” Ranger answered, taking another sip of his </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecito</span>
  </em>
  <span>, while making sure he was still leaning back in a non-threatening posture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A waitress approached and the gray-haired man started to stand. He then turned back to Ranger. “As you can tell, I consider that my roots are planted deep in our distant Cuban soil. But, as you can see from my grandson who took your food order, our roots are here in Boston also.” He laughed briefly. “After all, how else can I explain his atrocious Spanish accent and the fact that he loves American football.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lip tip into a brief smile. He inhaled deeply as the waitress set plates in front of him. The food just smelled </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Drawing on his manners, Ranger said, “You’re right, too, that I’m Cuban enough to appreciate good home cooking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man smiled broadly in reply, then knocked the table with his knuckles. “But I apologize: I’ve talked your ears off. Anyway, you’re always welcome to stop by here when you need some good home cooking. It’s my restaurant so I’m here most days. Feel free to ask for me—my name is Ricardo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed almost reflexively before admitting, “My name is Ricardo also.” After a beat, he added, “though most people call me Ranger.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The old man filled in his own laughter. “You see, my friend, you were meant to stop by here. Not only to be at home, but also to have someone who’ll call you by your real name.” Shaking Ranger’s hand and bidding him a good day, the gray-haired man walked back to the kitchen, catching up to the waitress in time to open the swinging door for her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning back, Ranger took a breath. He scanned the restaurant, noting the tables that were newly occupied, and those now empty. He briefly watched a busboy clearing one of the tables, then turned his attention to his meal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While he began eating, Ranger considered the older Ricardo’s words. At another point in Ranger’s life, the whole conversation would have pissed him off, though now Ranger now understood why. It was because simply being Cuban had been so goddamned confusing for so long. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he’d hinted to Mary Alice when he’d driven her to U-Mass the other day, growing up Cuban in Newark was no big thing outside of his family. Another brown skinned middle class family fleeing from a usurping dictator? Get in line and take a number. And, by the way, get your children's birth certificates in-order because you'll need them to pick up their maladjusted butts from juvie as soon as they’re old enough to start acting out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So while he’d been steeped in the sense of pride and identity that his family took from their background, it had little meaning in Ranger’s childhood outside his home. In fact, outside of his family, being Cuban just meant he was different in yet another way. With his brother being so much older, Ranger didn’t look like anyone else at school except his sisters. He didn’t sound like anyone else when speaking Spanish, and few people he recognized from school attended the annual New Jersey Cuban Day parade in Union City. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the time he was in middle school he’d started saying he was Puerto Rican and speaking in their accent, just to fit in with the other boys who spoke Spanish. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In some ways, Ranger’s cousin Lester had it easier, being only half Cuban. Les could identify with his Latino roots when it served him. Or, when he wanted to be more traditionally American, Les could draw on his mother’s northern European background and the light colored hair and green eyes that were part of her heritage.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger didn’t have that luxury. His medium brown skin, dark brown eyes, and straight dark-colored hair marked him as Latino as soon as anyone heard his real name or caught him saying anything in Spanish. In the Army, of course, and through his Special Forces work Ranger had learned many ways to disguise his identity. But, ultimately he was simply the skinny Cuban boy who’d finally grown up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>From his parents Ranger had learned about the hectic love that had enough iron at its core to withstand the rigors of discrimination, disagreements, and disappointment. From his mother’s parents, Rosa and Ricardo Santos, Ranger had learned about the dignity of hard work. He’d seen the way a man should cherish a woman, and how a woman—the right woman—would straighten her shoulders and open her arms in support of her husband. And, he’d learned about the challenges of being strangers in a strange land.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All of those were entwined in his mind with being Cuban, because that was at the core of how his family had viewed their lives. Looking around this restaurant, though, Ranger knew it was more than that. Despite his New Jersey upbringing, he was well aware that his manners and his full sense of being Cuban came from his paternal grandmother, his Abuela Mañoso in Miami. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which caused its own disorientation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Resentful and confused, Ranger had been sent to Miami in high school to live with his straight-backed grandmother. His parents had said it was to distance him from the trouble he’d gotten into in his own neighborhood. But, the strained look on his mother’s face and the closed look on his father’s had made their goodbye at the train station feel like he was being sent into exile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had contemplated leaving the train at several points during the day-long trip and starting a romanticized life on the run. He’d almost left at Philadelphia and also Washington DC. But even as an adolescent he’d been savvy enough to know that a slender Latino boy on his own in a large city wasn’t going to have a good time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even with that, though, he’d almost left at Fort Lauderdale, where he’d needed to transfer to the Metrorail to complete the trip to Miami. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At the last minute, as the doors were closing, Ranger had slipped into the final train and traveled to meet his abuela. A small, determined woman, she’d hugged him just beyond the platform, made sure he had all his luggage, and then slapped the back of his head while declaring that he was too much like those </span>
  <em>
    <span>boriqua</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those Puerto Ricans he lived with up in New Jersey. And she’d made it her mission to change all of that.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Ranger felt his face tighten at the memory. He’d been a misfit from the start. He knew that his aristocratic Abuela Mañoso had</span> <span>never quite forgiven her son Carlos Ramón, Ranger’s father, for marrying below his </span><em><span>casta</span></em><span>, below his station in life. A marriage that was written on Ranger’s face. Even the owner of this restaurant had seen it. </span></p>
<p><span>After all, though it might be doctrine that there weren't any native Caribbean Indians left in Cuba, there were a lot of brown skinned </span><em><span>guajiro </span></em><span>peasants</span> <span>in Cuba’s eastern</span> <span>provinces where Ranger’s grandparents had grown up. Coffee-colored dirt-farmers with straight brown Taíno </span><em><span>Indio</span></em><span> hair, striking features, and full level eyebrows just like Ranger’s. The poorest of the poor, the people who worked cane, mucked barns, and cleaned your outhouses for a few </span><em><span>centavos</span></em><span>. </span></p>
<p><span>The people who, Ranger was quite sure, were impoverished day laborers on the Mañoso estates in the stagnant, feudal </span><em><span>Cuba</span></em> <em><span>Oriental</span></em><span> of Ranger’s abuela’s memories.   </span></p>
<p>
  <span>So, Ranger’s dignified abuela’s eldest son, Carlos Ramón Mañoso Duarte, with his plantation heritage that could be traced all the way back to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Estremadura</span>
  </em>
  <span> in Spain, had stooped to marry one of those sorry </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indio</span>
  </em>
  <span> peasants. No wonder her son moved all the way to chilly Newark for the wedding. Clearly her son Carlos Ramón had learned the wrong lessons in this melting-pot American haven from communist Cuba.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, no wonder that Abuela Mañoso’s grandson Ricardo Carlos—the boy who was not yet Ranger—had trouble with right and wrong. Stealing cars like a thug in a land of plenty, wearing his hair long and acting sullen like a fieldhand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within hours of picking him up from the train, Ranger’s abuela had shoved her scowling grandson into a chair and given him a crew cut. Within days, he’d found out she was as strict as the guards in juvie and as quick to see through his bullshit. She’d called him by his middle name Carlos, like her son. Never Ricardo, the name of Ranger’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Indio </span>
  </em>
  <span>peasant Abuelo Santos from New Jersey. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>On a relentless campaign to redirect Ranger to what she considered the right path, his abuela insisted he use Miami Cuban when speaking Spanish, which was a necessity when living in her circles. She got him enrolled in the elite José Martí Academy for the school year, and had him join the Padilla Cigar soccer team in the summer league, where he had learned that he was a gifted athlete. Highlights from his games had frequently made the Miami-Dade news; hence the soccer videotapes Ranger had mentioned to Stephanie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was his soccer coach who’d introduced Ranger to strength and conditioning workouts, and to weightlifting. His lean adolescent form had quickly filled out, making him start to look like the man he was today. Ranger chuckled ironically to himself at the memory of how he’d gone from being a young </span>
  <em>
    <span>macho</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the streets—and in juvie—to a young </span>
  <em>
    <span>macho</span>
  </em>
  <span> in demand at the community’s sporting events and parties.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because, last but certainly not least, Abuela Mañoso had enrolled young Ricardo Carlos in deportment classes so he could attend the lavish </span>
  <em>
    <span>quinceañeras </span>
  </em>
  <span>that were Miami Cuba's coming out parties for fifteen year old girls with means. That's when Ranger had discovered that he now had a combination of dangerous looks and </span>
  <em>
    <span>hidalgo,</span>
  </em>
  <span> old world high manners that was captivating to the female sex, including the older sisters and mothers of the celebrants. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dressed in a suit with his newly-confident dance moves, Ranger had experienced a couple of really excellent years at parties. Actually, in coat closets, cars, and bathrooms. Or anywhere; he hadn’t been particular on the matter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without noticing it, Ranger had found himself getting absorbed into his abuela’s life, with its newly found privileges and the improved status that simply came from going with the flow. A lot of the time he’d felt like an imposter; like he was undercover in his own life. Sometimes he’d felt like he was betraying his Abuelo Santos by simply going along with his Abuela Mañoso and her patrician view of Cuban life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, day-to-day, it was an easier life than he’d had in New Jersey, even if it felt tainted. Even if Ranger, himself, had sometimes felt displaced or dissipated. Like he was watching himself from a distance, going through the moves like an actor. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, halfway into his senior year, his Uncle Miguel had visited Abuela Mañoso’s Miami home while on leave. Ranger had always known that his father had a brother, Miguel Ramón, who was an army officer, but hadn’t thought much about it. Like many displaced Cuban families, the Mañosos had come to see the American army as an honorable way to fight communism while supporting the host country of their exile. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meeting him in person, though, had made a huge impression on Ranger’s young, adrift self. Miguel was unquestionably strong and upright; a man who nobody questioned, who nobody messed with. He was handsome in an unassuming way; strong in a lean and decisive manner. Most importantly, he was both Cuban and American in a way that finally made sense to Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the age difference—after all, his uncle was only about five years younger than Ranger’s father, who was Miguel’s older brother—Ranger had felt close to the taciturn, no-nonsense man. He’d absorbed everything his Tío Miguel had to say about life in the military, which Ranger now knew had been seriously edited to focus only on eventful and heroic aspects.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most importantly, Ranger had finally seen a path into an adulthood that felt honorable. That was unambiguous, and that made him start to feel what it would be like to become a man rather than a boy. Further, it was a chance to clear his record and to use his own physicality and restlessness to best advantage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing his teenaged nephew’s interest, Miguel had counseled Ranger to try college first. No-doubt sensing his nephew’s scepticism, Miguel had told Ranger that boys who went straight to the military didn’t have the self-awareness that college and a bit more experience gave young men. Miguel asserted that the additional time before enlisting was instrumental in helping young people become exemplary soldiers and officers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In hindsight, Ranger suspected that Miguel was simply trying to delay Ranger long enough for him to make a good decision. It wasn’t bad advice, though. If Ranger had a nephew interested in the military, or a niece for that matter, he’d give similar counsel. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, with that focus, Ranger started taking college applications seriously. Accepted by Rutgers with a foreign language scholarship, Ranger had prepared to walk a straight line. He’d spent his last months in high school reading the military history and tactics books he found in the local library. It being Miami, filled with Cubans who dreamt of a chance to redo the Bay of Pigs invasion—successfully this time—and finally overthrow the dictatorship, there were a surprisingly large number of such books in both English and Spanish. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>After having packed his belongings, attended the requisite post-graduation parties, and said goodbye to the couple of young ladies he’d been loosely dating, Ranger felt ready to start in his new direction. His Abuela Mañoso had seen him off at the same north Miami train station where she’d greeted him a couple of years before, this time with satisfaction beaded in her eyes. She’d hugged him again, which was a rare event, and demanded that he write to her at least once a month.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head at that memory. He had planned to write regularly, though he’d realized after she’d passed away that he hadn’t done so. He’d found his few letters to her folded in her book of saints’ days, along with a handful of pictures. Only recently had it dawned on him that all the pictures had been of male family members. The ones who could pass on the Mañoso family name. The woman had been relentless.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Taking stock of the restaurant around him as he finished his very Cuban lunch, Ranger remembered the culture shock of returning to Newark for college. For the first time he'd understood how unmoored his Cuban refugee grandparents must have felt, here in this casually welcoming country. A place where people ate roast beef sandwiches instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ropa vieja</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Where salt was a seasoning instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>adobo</span>
  </em>
  <span> or </span>
  <em>
    <span>mojo</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and where homes smelled of cleaning products instead of the low background simmer of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sofrito </span>
  </em>
  <span>and olive oil.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A place where Ranger had been a misfit, all over again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger returned to the here-and-now as the young waiter—the elder Ricardo’s grandson, whose name ironically turned out to be Carlos—came by to clear Ranger’s dishes. Ranger declined dessert despite the young man’s persuasion. Unbidden, though, Ranger thought how much he’d enjoy Stephanie's pleasure at eating the rich </span>
  <em>
    <span>tres leches </span>
  </em>
  <span>cake. Or even the flan whose custard, the young man assured Ranger, was sprinkled with cinnamon in proper Cuban fashion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It struck Ranger suddenly, like the silence after weapons fire, that he’d rarely allowed Cuban food to be served during the several times he’d had her join him for dinner in Trenton. Despite her naive and casual interest in his Cuban background, Ranger had almost never played the music; he’d never taken her to the Latino clubs in Newark where he sometimes went to dance, though she probably would’ve loved it. And he’d only spoken Spanish in her presence when work demanded it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not surprising, now that he thought about it, given how conflicted his feelings had been. At the time, he’d told himself it was to avoid making himself seem that much more exotic to Stephanie. On that point, he’d concurred with Tank’s opinion that Stephanie probably only saw him as a daring escape from her sheltered existence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, it was partly a strategy to keep Stephanie at arm’s length. But, that wasn’t it; not really. Ranger could see, now, that his ambivalence about Stephanie had been tangled in with everything he’d been struggling with in Trenton. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Everything.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Perhaps he’d have figured this out sooner if he’d followed Tank’s advice and returned to therapy after his last mission with Rangeman. Of course, Ranger had seen a shrink off-and-on while in service. A few, in fact. With a background in the military like Ranger had, it was practically mandatory. And he was certain it had helped him make the transition out of Special Forces into private life. He’d seen too many men not make that change. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d left that behind, though, when he’d gotten to Trenton. Flush at setting his own path, starting his own business, and becoming his own man, Ranger had said goodbye to dress code, mandatory assignments, as well as shrinks. Possibly not his best decision, Ranger acknowledged wryly to himself. </span>
  <em>
    <span>No, definitely not</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger amended as he considered the number of personal ghosts he’d wrestled and laid to rest over the past few years, one-by-one, to get to where he was now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a conscious effort, Ranger forced himself to focus his thoughts back on his situation with Stephanie. The fact that he’d woken well-rested this morning, feeling safe in way he hadn’t for years… well, didn’t that tell him what he needed to know?  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head; it told him that he’d been outstandingly good at repressing what he’d valued about that relationship. He considered that, with Stephanie, he never had to be perfect. Spending time with her made his soul feel light, like the first shower after returning from the field. Whole and right with the world. His past failures didn't matter, other than to serve as paths taken and object lessons that had gotten him here. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had made him feel redeemed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And that had confused the fuck out of him back in Trenton, Ranger thought with a wry lift of his brow. It was a salvation that made no sense when he was overwhelmed. Acceptance and faith in him that fairly burned like napalm against the firefight he’d felt inside. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Attraction whose delicious indulgence he fought until he found himself obsessed with a woman he wouldn't claim. Temptation that wore him down to the point he found himself sharing her with another man. Something like love that he refused to own and that, frankly, didn’t quite claim him back, either.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger fingered his empty coffee cup. He'd overthought this before and didn’t want to go down that same well-worn path, knowing full well it would just lead him in a circle. What he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know was that, after a long journey, he’d finally reclaimed his heritage. He was Cuban, </span>
  <em>
    <span>carne y hueso</span>
  </em>
  <span>, from the flesh down to the bone. American, too. And, the same long journey had also brought him back to Stephanie, who had herself made changes over the past few years.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled, then sat up decisively, pulled out his wallet, and counted out enough money for the check and an ample tip. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Standing and pulling on his parka, Ranger fingered Sarah’s St. Martin’s medal one more time through his shirt, and then zipped his coat closed. He nodded a brisk farewell to young Carlos by the register, grabbed a take-out menu, and headed back outside into the cold. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger put on his hat and gloves as he headed toward his truck, which he’d parked further away from Stephanie’s home last night than usual. Pacing through the sloppy snow that had collected since he’d started eating, Ranger unconsciously scanned people and cars. At the same time, his mind had not yet stopped puzzling over Stephanie. He quickened his pace, not wanting to be outside and distracted any longer than necessary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned a corner and saw a woman crossing the street in a knee-length blue coat that reminded Ranger of Stephanie’s used wool coat from Trenton. His step faltered for a second: every time he’d seen that coat it had reminded him of the time he’d had to rescue her shortly after she’d acquired it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Suddenly, in an unexpected rush of adrenaline, Ranger felt the tracing echo of the fury he’d felt seven years ago when he’d returned to Trenton and found Stephanie had left. Somehow that memory always mixed with the time he’d jumped off the bridge to rescue her from drowning in the Delaware river. Which made him feel coldness race through his bones; both a physical and emotional chill. That, too, was a familiar feeling; the habitual aftermath of anger.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger took a deep breath and focused on centering himself as he got to his truck. Fully locked in, he squared his jaw. He then took the time to breathe deeply until he felt his heartbeat return to its normal level.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Ranger started the truck and then stepped outside briefly to clean snow off the windshields and mirrors, glad for the brief bout of physical activity. Then he angled back inside the truck after shaking most of the moist snow off his coat. Ranger typed the first address from this morning’s research into his GPS. He flipped through his music until he found Handel’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Water Music </span>
  </em>
  <span>and started it playing, the rolling yet measured music always good to calm his soul</span>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pulled out of the parking spot and began to drive. A few blocks later, as he turned left on Washington Street toward Roxbury, he got a call from one of his contacts from the NSA. Another former Special Forces colleague, his caller gave him information about some intercepted calls they’d been decoding, which might have a bearing on his case. In turn, Ranger provided details on his electronic dropbox, where the full decoded calls could be deposited for Ranger to review later. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His colleague, not as terse as Ranger, continued talking as Ranger drove. It was familiar, like a tactical check-in during an operation. Ranger listened, interjecting comments at appropriate points while getting into his zone. When the conversation veered into reminiscences of a general they had worked with—a real one-star hard-on—Ranger found himself actually chuckling at the memories.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While they talked, a text came in on Ranger’s other phone. Ranger tapped a button to view the message on the front display on his dashboard. It was from Stephanie. Calm enough that his breathing didn’t hitch, Ranger read the message while he continued listening to the phone. He felt his eyebrow raise as a second and then a third text arrived from Stephanie, all in a row. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reflected with amusement that Stephanie could never be accused of brevity. Knowing her, though, he was easily able to pick out that she was stuck in a meeting all afternoon, her queries on the ESL school were still running, but she was starting to see a pattern. There was also something about Netflix, chicken, and hockey, but Ranger was smart enough to know he’d better wait for that part in person. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With Stephanie’s text as a reminder, Ranger asked his NSA contact to see if he could find anything back-channel about the school. Then, ending the call, Ranger texted a quick “Thanks” back to Stephanie and turned the truck’s stereo up again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Following the route mapped by his GPS, Ranger found himself puzzling over the strength of his emotions regarding Stephanie. He’d been surprised over the past few days to find how strong and mixed they were. And how, with hindsight, some of them seemed out of proportion.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Notably, he found himself wondering how much of his previous, angry dismissal of Stephanie for leaving Trenton—and his obviously mistaken conviction that </span>
  <em>
    <span>he</span>
  </em>
  <span> had been a major reason why she left—had been misplaced anger at himself. Displaced feelings around issues that he’d spent the past seven years untangling for himself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He had a sobering follow-up thought: how much of his anger before he finally left Trenton had flourished because Stephanie simply wasn’t there to help him ramp it down. More confusing: If she had been there, would he have simply remained in limbo? Or would he have been able to leverage her strengths to deal with the demons he’d faced? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because, Ranger thought to himself, there was no doubt about it: Stephanie was strong, though in different ways from him. Where he was hewn to fight, to defend against violence, she was molded to draw people out of their situations and bring them together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But they were both warriors. Ranger knew he was wired the opposite of most people, instinctively running toward a firefight when there was a chance to save lives and balance the scales a bit more toward justice. Similarly, Stephanie would throw herself into the fray because she cared. And, just like Ranger, Stephanie had a curiosity and a drive to solve enigmas that was like a compulsion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beyond that, Stephanie accepted people as they were, and elevated the value within. People as different as Joe, Lula, Albert, and Hector—and Ranger—had been the recipients of her acceptance. Whether he understood it or not, Ranger could see that she’d made people around her better, if they were willing to try. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled wryly. Beyond that, and importantly for Ranger, Stephanie had the ability to forgive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So that was what she had, what she brought. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What did Ranger bring? What did he really have to offer a woman for the long haul? Beyond sex, of course, where Ranger was confident enough to know he could always provide satisfaction. And, frankly, where most of his relationships began and ended.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Ranger scoffed, Stephanie had nailed that one already. Beyond sex and casual dating, Ranger’s answer had always been money. Sometimes indirectly, the way he’d lent cars to Stephanie and occasionally treated her to better food and wine than she could afford. Occasionally directly, as he’d done with his ex-wife Rachel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And hadn’t that worked out well</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger scowled. As soon as Ranger’s financial assistance had been assured, Rachel had married Ron. Within a couple of years after that, Ranger’s schedule to visit his daughter Julie had been severely constrained.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though, in all fairness, Ranger couldn’t blame Rachel. Ranger had provided financial support knowing he’d be absent. Beyond that, Ron was exactly the dependable, slightly out-of-shape, and quiet man that Ranger’s research had indicated. Ranger knew Ron would provide a stable home for his daughter. Not to say that Ranger hadn’t felt more than a twinge of remorse when Rachel insisted their daughter’s name be changed from Julie Mañoso to Julie Martine. But, it was the right thing to do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, money he could offer, but it was only marginally useful. And often not fulfilling to Ranger, either. Shifting in the car seat, Ranger also remembered Stephanie’s uncomfortable comment the other day. That had he been in Trenton when her family died, Ranger would’ve offered money, though that hadn’t been what she truly needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what had Stephanie truly needed? What did Ranger truly have to offer? Ranger scowled: this was getting back into the category of “overthinking the problem,” which wasn’t going to help him figure anything out new or useful. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Ranger remembered her delight at the donuts he’d brought the other day. The happiness he’d seen on her face when he had put on the parka she’d insisted he should buy. The satisfaction he’d seen in her eyes when he’d told that he was proud of how she’d nurtured Mary Alice. The quiet, peaceful smile he’d seen on her face after they’d hugged in the hospital parking lot.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The comfort she inexplicably seemed to take in having him visit her in the middle of the night; in having him rest with her in the moments before her day began.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So maybe it was as simple as this: Ranger knew what made her happy and his presence seemed to please her at some fundamental level. Something as basic yet mysterious as the fact that Ranger felt at home with Stephanie, he enjoyed her pleasure, and in her arms he felt safe. And there was no denying the physical attraction.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused, sure that his Abuelo Santos would have understood implicitly. Ranger smiled to himself at his memory from the other day. Maybe what his abuelo told him so many years ago was really all he needed to know: “As you become a man, you will find out that it is </span>
  <em>
    <span>who</span>
  </em>
  <span> you fight for that truly counts.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. Why not? He had never truly fought </span>
  <em>
    <span>for</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie. Maybe that was what his memory in the mirror was trying to hammer into his stubborn head.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that moment, Ranger’s phone pinged like punctuation to his thoughts. Viewing the text, Ranger saw it was Gerry reporting that he’d finally found Djaleo’s cousin. Gerry had also sent some pictures. Needing to use his phone to view them, Ranger took a quick set of evasive moves and then pulled into the back of a car wash. After a brief glance at the first picture, which was a side-view of Djaleo talking with another man, Ranger dialed Gerry’s cellphone.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Chief,” Gerry answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s Ranger,” he growled in reply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah yeah, gotcha. Anyhow, what do you think? I got Sparky and his buddy here,” Gerry continued, referring to Djaleo and his cousin. “Right now we’re hangin’ in the crappy diner where his buddy works. What do you want me to do? Since it’s mid-shift I’m thinking your old friend Sparky is more mobile at the moment. I can follow him if you want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “Good thinking,” he said briskly. “Text me the diner’s address. I’ll come there. If my so-called friend leaves before then, follow him.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ten-four,” Gerry enthused while Ranger fought the urge to roll his eyes. “I’ll keep you posted,” Gerry concluded as the call ended. Moments later, the location for the diner appeared on Ranger’s phone. He entered it into the GPS and got back on the road, headed toward the diner where Djaleo’s cousin worked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head, bemused. Though he hadn’t recognized him at the time, Ranger had previously seen the man Gerry had photographed—Djaleo’s cousin—in footage his car-cam had recorded outside Geary’s Pub the other day. In that footage, Stephanie’s skip Fennelly had been handing Djaleo's cousin money. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They hadn't been able to truly connect Fennelly to Ranger's targets until now. But, of course, his Babe’s instinct, telling her that Fennelly was somehow connected, was spot-on yet again.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He should know by now, Ranger thought. Stephanie truly came from a line of uncanny, almost scary women. Ranger chuckled. That made him think of Sarah and her medal, which he could feel solid against his skin. And then Ranger pictured Mary Alice, and couldn't help wondering what her song of the day was, today. Probably something random like “Fly Me To the Moon,” which now Ranger would likely have playing in his head the rest of the day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Ranger dialed through his truck’s music selection until he found his newest Salsa and Bachata mix. Turning it up as a particularly vigorous Romeo Santos song began to play, Ranger smiled the grin of a confident hunter. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Time to start claiming what was his.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>To be continued...</em>
</p>
<p> </p>
<hr/>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Author’s Note:</span>
  </em>
  <span> Please assume creative license regarding Ranger’s feelings and memories about his Cuban heritage in this and other chapters. I’ve based his observations on experiences related by friends of Puerto Rican and Cuban heritage, but everyone’s experiences are different. And, this is fiction, created from bits and pieces of information woven to support a narrative purpose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span><em>Ranger's background:</em> You don't need to know this for this story. However, for those of you who are interested, this story’s specifics regarding Native American ethnicity on Cuba’s eastern coast are speculative. It’s true, though, that Taíno-Carib recipes and agricultural habits persist throughout the Caribbean. Their words (hammock, hurricane, papaya, tobacco, canoe) are part of our modern life. The tribes themselves, though, were thought to be lost to history until people started looking more closely over the past few decades. In Puerto Rico, a decent percent of the population turns out to have native DNA mixed with their rich imported lineages. (The word </span>
  <em>
    <span>Boricua</span>
  </em>
  <span>, used these days with pride to indicate Puerto Rican heritage, is said to come from Taíno.) </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This Taíno-Carib persistence is probably also true in Cuba—distinctly Cuban words like </span>
  <em>
    <span>guajiro</span>
  </em>
  <span> (peasant), rural thatch roofing styles, and ethnographic descriptions give that hint—though it’s difficult to tell which Cuban publications are valid versus propaganda. Separately, though, I’ve been told that the rural, hill country in eastern Cuba is peppered with villages of people who claim native Indian ancestry. For the sake of this story, please assume it’s so.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By the way, a couple weeks after I finished writing the Taíno backstory for Ranger, placing his family in the eastern agricultural provinces of Cuba, I received a mailer that included a coupon for a Jamaica Plain restaurant called “El Oriental de Cuba,” which means “Eastern Cuba.” Holy mother of plot devices! Field trip! (There have been so many OMG moments like this since I started writing this story that I’ve lost track.) In this case, the restaurant is real; however, the interior and people I describe are not. Also, their menu is significantly more Americanized than in this story. Still yummy, though.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Last but certainly not least: A big tip of the hat to Wanda517 on fanfiction dot net, who first made me really notice that the Ranger that JE describes doesn’t resemble the Cuban friends of the family I knew growing up, who were from the first wave of Cuban exiles and would have been Ranger’s family’s generation. If you haven’t read it already, I recommend her “Family Ties” as a nifty story with another intriguing backstory for Ranger. He is just such a fascinating character! </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0022"><h2>22. Making Connections</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 22: Making Connections</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Stephanie reached for her coffee, relieved that Winkelsteen had found her a workstation outside of the computer lab and its wholly unsympathetic “No food or drinks” sign. She pulled her pad of paper closer, writing down the file and record number she was currently viewing. This was the third time she’d seen this same company name in the data she’d gotten back from her initial queries. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew that having seen one name only a few times wasn’t significant itself, given the amount of data she had in front of her, to peruse. But still, she felt a quiet tingle along her spine as she saw that name appear. Just to be safe, she also copied the text into a file that she saved onto a memory stick that she’d plugged into the computer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, just as Winkelsteen had warned, the amount of data she’d received from her queries was fairly stunning. Especially since Stephanie, who didn’t yet know what she was looking for, had relied on the advice Silvio at Rangeman had given her many years ago. That was: throw the nets wide and use your own eyes to find the fish you want.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which had, admittedly, landed her with a lot of fish to sort through. Of course, that thought gave Stephanie a sudden image of a net full of flopping, undulating bail jumpers and other shady characters. With fins. She chuckled under her breath. She’d only been at this for an hour, but possibly she needed a break. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unfortunately, since she’d carved this time out from between meetings today, Stephanie knew she needed to make the most of her opportunity. Since this database wasn't connected to any networks, she could only access this data from this lab.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So she returned her attention to the files she was comparing online. This was something she knew she did well. She remembered that even Silvio had been impressed when he’d first taught her how to use the programs at the Rangeman office. And she’d found out, during her final stint at the office, that the mysterious Frederick Rodriguez in sales had actually lobbied for her to be hired full-time because she got him the information he needed faster than anyone else.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She reflected on that memory while the rest of her mind continued scanning files online and looked for patterns. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d forgotten all about Silvio—all about Rodriguez—until just now. It was part of the whole time at Rangeman that she’d put in a mental box and carefully locked away several years ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, though, she couldn’t help but wonder: what would life have been like if she’d gone to work at Rangeman full time eight-or-more years ago, the way Rodriguez apparently had wanted? The way it sometimes seemed like Ranger might have wanted, though she’d never been sure it wasn’t just a charity offer. He’d been so ambiguous on the point that she’d decided it was safer to assume he wasn’t serious.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As with so many memories of Ranger, she could recall times when he’d focused his considerable seductive charm on her, murmuring in a low voice that she should come work at Rangeman. So similar, in her mind, to the times he’d stood provocatively close with his dark, liquid eyes locked on hers, and kissed their way toward the bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Contrasting with those memories, she could remember several times when he’d framed his job offers as offhand, conditional options if she needed money, the way you’d hire a neighbor’s kid to walk the dog. Or he’d joke that she would help his affirmative action quotas. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just like she could remember times when he’d kissed her in the alley, his limbs meshed with hers like sweaty sex with clothes on, and then he’d backed away, pulled playfully on her hair and walked back to his truck. Like the time after he’d first spent the night, awakening her body like holy fire, and his parting words were to repair her relationship with Joe. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie paused with an involuntary gasp. She remembered: she'd never known where they stood. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, Stephanie thought uncomfortably: probably Ranger had harbored the same uncertainty. After all, she was often the one who’d risen from the bed, floor, or </span>
  <em>
    <span>wherever</span>
  </em>
  <span> after a moment so intimate it still made her toes curl, resetting the moment to the mundane. She was the one who’d spent heated days and long guiltless nights with Ranger in Hawaii on a fantasy honeymoon, and then handcuffed him to Joe before bolting.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squaring her shoulders unconsciously, Stephanie admitted that </span>
  <em>
    <span>she</span>
  </em>
  <span> was the one who’d slept with Ranger, and shortly afterward with Joe, on more than one occasion. Something that Ranger, with his surveillance mindset, would have been sure to know. Even Joe had finally figured it out, she thought with a grimace.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie knew now what she hadn’t admitted to herself then: she had been afraid of what commitment to someone as intense and uncompromising as Ranger, would mean. She hadn't been even close to ready. She’d seen what her mother’s commitment to her own marriage had meant. And, she’d still been too shell shocked at going through the whole courtship-marriage-betrayal-divorce whirlwind with Dickie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Plum,” Winkelsteen’s voice cut though her reminiscences, followed by the sound of knuckles rapping the wall. Exhaling with relief, Stephanie quickly highlighted the text online that her eyes had been scanning. In the way that often happened, she realized that she’d spotted another pattern that was interesting while her conscious mind had been chewing through something else entirely unrelated.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there,” she answered, looking up to see Winkelsteen leaning against the wall facing her, in the small deserted alcove where Stephanie was working. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Find anything interesting yet, Professor Plum? Any guns of the smoking variety? Or was it Colonel Mustard in the study with the candlestick, as I’ve always suspected?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Omigod, I haven’t thought of Clue in years.” Snorting, she added, “You know, I wish I’d had that game back in Trenton. About half of my bail bond cases were weird enough I probably could have used some combination of Clue and Magic Eight Ball to solve them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen started laughing along with Stephanie. “Some day, Plum, you gotta tell me more about those cases you keep mentioning.” He got a cagy look on his face, “Though, I gotta warn you: I already know about when you shot the boxer’s homicidal manager through your handbag, and when you cornered the crazy barbeque sauce murderer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No way,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Stephanie huffed at Winkelsteen with exasperation. Would she ever be able to live down the mayhem in her past? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen stood back. “C’mon Plum,” he backtracked. “I get bored sometimes, down here in the beige caves of computer doom.” At her continued death glare, he shook his head. “Oh, don’t be like that. You already know that newspapers have been publishing online for years. Anything that’s fit to print, and some you wish they wouldn’t,” he shook his head with a grimace. “But, those stories of yours got national play so they totally </span>
  <em>
    <span>pop</span>
  </em>
  <span> in searches. You’ve gotta know that anyone and their granny could find that stuff.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie’s expression changed to resigned annoyance, Winkelsteen gestured at the screen. “Let’s face it, what are you doing right now? You’re looking for info that people had no idea was stored about them electronically. You and I do this all the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>The truth is out there</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he intoned theatrically before concluding, “and all you really need is a couple good search engines and some mad skills.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen smiled archly as he caught her eyes. “And, by the way, Department of Motor Vehicle records are really not hard to view these days, oh Miss Auto Armageddon.“</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie rolled her eyes, Winkelsteen lifted his brows. “Oh also, Plum, when you decide to look me up online later tonight, I can tell you for certain that juvenile records are not actually expunged, but they are encrypted with a good 128-bit algorithm.” Caricaturing a knowing wink, Winkelsteen added, “So Cutie, I’ll show you mine sometime if you show me yours.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh. Who was she kidding? Her wacky life had always been an open book to anyone who was even in the vicinity. Maybe her heart hadn’t been clear for all to see, but her actions had never been covert. Just ask Dickie.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay okay, you’re right,” Stephanie admitted, grudgingly. And, she wasn’t stupid. She knew that part of Winkelsteen’s departmental responsibility included periodic online record scans on everyone in the BPD to look for indications of possible risk. Tell-tales such as a pattern of gambling, having too much money for one’s income, or anything else that might indicate a turn toward unethical behavior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Balancing that, she also knew that Winkelsteen didn’t gossip. Not really. He’d never told her about anything he’d found out about others on the force; not even the couple of times that she knew for certain that he’d been drunk. And, Stephanie knew with the same level of certainty that she had an uncanny ability to persuade anyone to tell her things they shouldn’t, if they had that inclination. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Winkelsteen maybe knew some things about Stephanie that she’d prefer to keep secret. But he also kept her secrets. Frankly, she’d already intuited that about Winkelsteen, even before today, which was why she’d reached out to him in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, she smiled again at Winkelsteen, “Well, as far as show-and-tell goes, I’d rather get your thoughts on some of the data that came back for the queries I ran overnight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure thing, though I didn’t actually look through the results, other than to make sure you got more than zero rows and fewer than the almost infinite number of donuts eaten annually by law enforcement individuals nationwide. You know: to make sure that the queries were running without errors in the query code itself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I really appreciate that,” Stephanie acknowledged. “But I’m wondering if there’s any way to run queries just against a few of the result files. I’ve started seeing some names and places that repeat and I want to see if they intersect somehow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen leaned over her shoulder, then quickly ducked back to look at Stephanie. “Okay if I look at the data on your screen?”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Stephanie nodded.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, give me an example of what you want to check.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, this one company name stands out.” Stephanie pointed to her screen, where the name “Sertorius Trust” was highlighted. “One of my searches was looking for information about a school in Minneapolis. And I found this name as one of its investors.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie reached over to point at the second screen on her right, at a different file. “This one has some insurance records. I was looking for accident reports that got police attention, and found that company name again. So, since I have to leave for a meeting, I wonder if there’s an easy way to look through all the results I got for names like that one, and a few others. I don't know how to use your search programs or I'd try it myself.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie glanced at Winkelsteen, whose eyes were still squinting at her screen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Plum, you want the system’s ‘fingers to do the walking’ for awhile?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, if that’s possible. Then I can come back and look through the results.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, yeah that should be possible. Let me know when you’re heading out. Your results are saved for now, and I think I can upload most of it into a format we can search. Give me the names or </span>
  <em>
    <span>whatevers</span>
  </em>
  <span> to search, and I can start that running for you.” Winkelsteen looked at Stephanie from the corners of his eyes. “If that’s okay with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I trust you. I’ve saved-off the things I want to search further, so I can make a copy of that for you, if that works.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it on that memory stick?” At Stephanie’s nod, Winkelsteen smiled. “Nice. Keeps it off the system and hard to trace.” He reached into a pocket and put his own memory stick into a different slot on the machine. Then he bent over and picked up Stephanie’s nibbled pen. Writing on the legal pad on the table, Winkelsteen said, “Type these lines before you take out your stick. It will copy the contents to my little encrypted friend, here.” He straightened up; his eyes flashed with mirth. “Trust me: that’s also wicked hard to trace.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie answered, feeling her heartbeat skip in a moment’s worry. Then she remembered who she was dealing with. “I’ve put an asterisk next to the ones that are most interesting. I definitely want Sertorius, but there are several others.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Gotcha,” Winkelsteen nodded, then frowned. “There's only a couple mentions of Sertorius. Why did that catch your eye? I mean, out of all this whole gumbo of surveillance, threat, and stupid crime records.” He squinted back at the screen. “And hey, not to mention driving records and workers compensation claims…. Man, now I know why the damn job ran all night into early afternoon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You did warn me,” Stephanie replied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” he answered in a distracted tone, “but I think you should let me revise your original queries so they return more focused results.” Winkelsteen leaned over and looked at a file on the second monitor to Stephanie’s right. “Or maybe let me do some digging for those names of yours outside, in more current data.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Stephanie grabbed Winkelsteen’s arm uneasily. “I gave my word that we’d only look at information off the net.” Meeting Winkelsteen’s calculating gaze, she added, “This is really important. Promise that you won’t search for any of this on networked computers.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen nodded slowly, his tongue pushing his cheek out in thought. “Okay,” he responded slowly, “but maybe let me narrow down your original big-data searches from last night. That would give you less than you have right now, but probably more than you’ll get from your little name-searches this afternoon.” Winkelsteen shook his head. “I thought you were looking for </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span>, not for </span>
  <em>
    <span>everything</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Maybe tonight,” she answered. “Wait until I finish looking through the data we have so far. I found some names, but may get a better idea with another hour of poking around.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing that Winkelsteen still seemed unconvinced, she continued, “It’s like that Sertorius Trust thing. It was actually in the batch of results we got yesterday from the first searches we ran. But I didn’t see it then, so I wouldn’t have known to look for it.” She looked up to see whether Winkelsteen was following. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At his nod, she continued. “But I found it a few places today, so I’m highlighting it as interesting. The first place is in a revised corporate filing for that English as a Second Language school in Minneapolis that I mentioned before. Which is marginally interesting, because after that filing the ESL school went from being a church non-profit to a corporation with investors. Which is a little weird for an ESL school in Minnesota.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, but not too weird overall,” Winkelsteen interjected.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but then I started looking into the records we found for students. That’s when I found that name a second time as a part owner of a construction company way over in Detroit where one of the former students had a serious accident. Which made me notice that a number of the former ESL students went there to work, which </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> weird because it’s like a ten hour drive from Minneapolis."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie swiveled restlessly in her chair. "And it doesn't quite make sense. The people I've worked with, who go to ESL school, are usually trying to get a job that pays better than maintenance or maybe be a good example to their kids. They don't usually take intro to speaking English to go hundreds of miles away with other unrelated people to work in construction. It's just odd.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting thoughtfully, Stephanie added, “And just now, I think I saw a similar name—like Sertorio Limited Trust—in Portland Maine. Which is one of the places I'm investigating." Stephanie paused, looking up at Winkelsteen. "So see what I mean? That’s the kind of detail I only find when I sift through stuff that I haven't narrowed-down, yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Winkelsteen nodded, his unkempt hair giving him a boyish look that was at odds with his speculative expression. “That actually makes sense to me.” He chuckled quietly. “I work that way too, sometimes. A lot, in fact.” He shrugged. “I guess I’m just not used to seeing people outside of the BPD Basement Zombie Alliance—I mean my data forensics team—chase data that way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, watching Winkelsteen pull up a chair and perch on the edge, his hands pressed between his knees. “Here’s the thing, Plum,” he said, his face suddenly hesitant. “As a friend I’ve gotta remind you of a couple of things. First off, the stuff you’re looking through is beyond the usual condensed cream-of-crime crap. It comes from some secure places, including a bunch of domestic threat files, do-not-fly lists, FBI active cases, and other partially redacted spook agency reports. Nothing national security level, or top secret, but still you get the point.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen paused, gazing steadily at Stephanie until she nodded. “Okay Plum, so the second thing is that there are only two reasons why out-of-date information on an unconnected database is better than current data. The first reason is that the current data has been tampered with in one or more of the secure sources I mentioned. The second reason is that people probably are watching the current data to snare anyone who’s taking a peek.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen raised a finger like a lecturer making a point. “Both of these are what we in the business call </span>
  <em>
    <span>bad things</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He smiled briefly. “That’s a technical term, in case you were wondering.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled as she nodded, weighing her words. “I know you’re warning me to be careful. And I appreciate it. But really, I am being careful.” As she said the words, she realized it was true. It wasn’t just a smokescreen of the type she’d used back in Trenton when Joe or Ranger were questioning her. Probably, Stephanie thought, it was because she’d already thought about the scenarios he’d raised—and a few more—over the past several days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Winkelsteen squinting at her, Stephanie rushed to explain, “I’m not the same Stephanie Plum who you read about in your background checks, if for no other reason than I have kids.” Hearing snippets of her recent conversation with Lula in her head, Stephanie mumbled under her breath, “And yeah, the thrill of being shot and firebombed kinda wore off.” Looking back at Winkelsteen she added more forcefully, “So, I’m just researching, not going off and doing anything about what I find.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen shifted on the edge of his chair. “Okay, so then there’s something you need to tell your friend who’s got you looking into this stuff.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt her eyes widen. Winkelsteen smirked, “C’mon Plum. Give me some credit. Normally your data inquiries are like ‘Let’s find the missing deadbeat dad whose support payments could keep Peter Petty-Crime-Spree off the streets.’ They’re not like the ones you ran last night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen leaned further on his knees, keeping eye contact with Stephanie. “Also, I remember from your background check that some cases you worked in Trenton had mob, gang, and weapons connections. You helped keep some crazy-bad people off the street. So I </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> you can rock with the big boys in the background when you want to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen shrugged. “Anyhow, in a shocking new discovery, sometimes </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> plus </span>
  <em>
    <span>two</span>
  </em>
  <span> equals </span>
  <em>
    <span>four</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He paused. “And, wow, you know I’m just that good at math,” he smiled impishly at Stephanie.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted. “Okay, point taken,” she answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen inhaled, sitting up. “Good deal. So anyhow, Plum, you should tell the silent and invisible partner that nobody but me knows anything about your queries or their results. I have them executing at a run-level that nobody but I can see. And you should also mention that only a few specific people in the NSA know that we still have this data. Beyond that, it’s theoretically a secret.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Winkelsteen pushed down on his chair’s armrests and stood. “After you leave, you’ll happen to find a piece of paper in your purse that has some names on it. Those ‘few specific people’ I mentioned. Show your friend. Then do what all good cartoon spies do and burn the paper, or eat it, or give it to the Tazmanian Devil for some good Looney Tunes shred-and-eat.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help but laugh at the image. “I get it. Such a paper never existed.” She swiveled her chair again, slightly to follow Winkelsteen. “And really, I appreciate the advice. These days, though, I do look before I leap a lot better than in the days from the background checks. Like I said, I’ve got a family. And, frankly, I kinda know a lot of what can go wrong from experience.” She smiled, a bit sadly. “Sometimes you gotta learn the hard way, but I mostly did.” Mumbling she added, “One crazy stalker at a time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I hear you,” Winkelsteen smiled thoughtfully down at Stephanie. “Some day I’ll tell you how much fun it is to be a fourteen-year-old kid who gets hauled downtown for managing to hack into Harvard’s personnel and payroll records from my mom’s kitchen table.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shook her head ruefully, suddenly wondering what Mary Alice did on her laptop in the evening. Mary Alice didn’t seem to be a computer prodigy, but maybe it was time to check in on that activity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow Plum, always good to have these little chats,” Winkelsteen interrupted Stephanie’s thoughts as he started down the hallway. “And, don’t let me forget to emphasize that you should call me </span>
  <em>
    <span>immediately</span>
  </em>
  <span> if you ever want a job in the computer forensics department. We can always use a few more people who like to deep-dive into data haystacks for just the pure excitement of searching out a few missing needles.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Stephanie answered with a snort. “I already know, though, that I can’t do this eight hours a day. Found that out the hard way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, a guy can dream,” Winkelsteen said with an exaggerated sigh as he rounded the hallway corner. “And you can’t blame him for trying.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie chuckled briefly to herself, then turned back to her main monitor. Sitting forward, she resumed her scan for the pattern in student records she’d just spotted before being interrupted. It wasn’t too long, though, before she found herself thinking back on her conversation with Winkelsteen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pondered that, throughout Winkelsteen’s questioning, she truly had been comfortable with the level of risk she was taking. Of course, in the past Joe had said that Stephanie had a higher comfort level with risk than most people. Usually right before complaining that she’d given him ulcers, Stephanie thought ruefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably he had been right. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But even so, over the past week Stephanie had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>careful</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d run risks in her head and looked for ways to protect against them. Where before her first instinct had always been to leap in, body first, Stephanie now saw her family in her mind’s eye. She agreed with Lula, she wasn’t the Bombshell Bounty Hunter anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her instincts had changed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d internalized the repeated BPD training she’d received on how to stay safe as a cop and a community worker. Exhaling uncomfortably, Stephanie also admitted to herself that now she actually </span>
  <em>
    <span>used</span>
  </em>
  <span> the tips Ranger had given her long ago about how to evaluate threats, spot tails, and investigate without being seen.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh yeah, Stephanie had listened to Ranger back in Trenton; she had simply decided to mostly ignore him when his advice would slow her down. She shook her head; Lula had been so right about how Stephanie only seemed to understand life’s teachings after the fact, with a hearty kick-in-the-butt to punctuate the lesson.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrugging off that thought for now, Stephanie thought about the rest of Winkelsteen’s comments. She realized she’d also been telling the truth when she’d said she couldn’t do this type of analysis work for eight hours a day. Stephanie remembered trying, the few times she’d worked in the Rangeman office doing searches. She could be mesmerized for hours on end, the way she was right now. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But she’d never been able to stay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding absentmindedly to herself while she flipped to another file on her screen, Stephanie by now knew that part of the reason had been Catholic-girl guilt running under the stubborn Plum denial radar. After all, Stephanie had been dating Joe during several of those short, memorable Rangeman jobs. It wasn’t pretty when she thought about it: she’d lusted after Ranger, flirted and kissed, and even used his shower during the day. Then she’d returned to Joe at night. Even now she flinched from remembering the times she’d gone from Ranger’s bed to Joe’s. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not an aspect of her youth of which she was proud. At least she could admit it, though, after years of introspection. One of the questionable gifts of time and distance. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah right,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie snorted to herself. More like one of the questionable gifts of having good BPD shrink insurance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But really, she remembered how antsy she’d gotten after a few days of running searches for Ranger, Manny, Rodriguez, and the other Rangemen. All of the action was happening elsewhere in an orbit revolving around Ranger, and she was stuck in her chair. Doing her own work on the side. Looking for excuses to leave the office. Or looking for excuses to be with Ranger in his office or apartment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Or in his bed</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie grimaced again, even as she felt a flush of memory rise along her skin like the gentle brush of a silk sheet.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But taking Ranger out of the equation, it had been a job. Nothing more. Even Ranger had acknowledged that.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not like her work at the BPD, which had been a godsend. Partly due to her changed circumstances of course. Nothing like having a house full of children and a desk covered in bills to get a new appreciation for steady income. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Stephanie also knew that her job was more than that. It refreshed her; it was the light at the end of a long night, the prize in the Cracker Jacks. It was like finally knowing the right question to ask to win Double Jeopardy. Stephanie said a silent “thank you” to her boss Ryan, and also to Joe who’d done so much to get her the job. He really did know her, after all. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Because, amazingly, Stephanie had a job that intentionally combined desk work with reasons to be in the field. And those times in the field often led to her being able to help people in ways she could see, sometimes right away. She could go home at the end of the day feeling like she made a difference. And often enough, like today, she had time to pursue loose threads that she, herself, considered important.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Beyond that, it was the first job since E.E. Martin where she</span>
  <em>
    <span> knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> she did it well. And, frankly, the Jamaica Plain cop shop had become like what Stephanie imagined an extended family might be like. That is, if they weren’t congenitally nuts like the Plum-Mazurs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Most days, it was just nice to go to work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stopped and marked another result in the file displayed on her screen. She’d spotted another pattern; this time while scanning arrest records for the ESL students. A couple had been arrested for breaking-and-entering in Minneapolis over the past five or six years. Since the school was there, that made sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what got Stephanie’s spidey senses tingling were the two who had been caught stealing explosives in Detroit a couple of years ago. Then, there was the one who’d died at about the same time in a hit-and-run that injured an FBI agent in Rhode Island, just over the state border from Fall River. What sent her tingles into overdrive, though, was spotting a cluster of the ESL school’s students in Baltimore and Maryland within the past two years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>There was </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> there, but she needed to see more. Stephanie looked at her watch: she had a little while before she needed to leave and go to a meeting across the street in the main police office. She didn’t really have enough time to start looking through another file. And her eyes were getting tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh heck, who am I fooling</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. Ignoring all the practical considerations, what she really wanted to do was call Ranger. She’d tried earlier, as she’d driven downtown after her long morning meeting, but her call had gone directly to voicemail. Intellectually Stephanie knew that probably meant Ranger had been doing surveillance or was otherwise occupied.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, after having seen Ranger exhausted in the early hours this morning, after what had sounded like a grueling night… well, she just wanted to hear his voice. She wanted to know he was okay. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wanted to let him know she cared.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling out her phone, Stephanie made a mental note to swing by Winkelsteen’s desk on her way out for help writing a query that could get her more information about the ESL school. Then, before she lost her nerve, she dialed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Ranger’s deep voice answered after the first ring.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo yourself,” Stephanie answered, feeling a smile spreading across her face. "How are the daylight hours treating you?" </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Been up for hours Babe," Ranger's baritone voice replied. "Sorry I missed your call earlier, but I was busy being a hardass." Ranger paused and Stephanie could hear the muted sounds of traffic over the phone, along with the muffled rhythmic whump of windshield wipers on snow. "Just another day at the office," Ranger added with an undertone that Stephanie recognized as Ranger humor.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled. "That reminds me. I was talking with Lula the other day about how amazing it is that we all managed to get work that suits us. Like how she and I managed to find jobs where we both drive around all day and call people on the phone between appointments.” Stephanie snorted in amusement. “Not exactly what I envisioned growing up, but it'll do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We all eventually find what’s right, Babe, even if it takes a few refinements along the way.” Ranger exhaled a low chuckle. “Fortunately, growing up I always wanted to be a hardass who drives expensive cars and looks good with a gun. Made things easier.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed dutifully, though found herself pondering Lula’s recent insights into Ranger’s life. Listening to Ranger’s smooth answer, Stephanie suddenly saw how ready she’d always been to accept Ranger’s summary depictions of himself when she was younger. Well, she hadn’t accepted them completely—she’d labeled him as a “man of mystery” to explain his contradictions—but she’d been careful to not look too deeply. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In her mind’s eye, Stephanie now saw the man who’d come home to her in the early morning hours. A good man pushing himself to the limits, searching for something to solve a case he’d taken a couple months ago because it was the right thing to do. Looking for two boys abducted by their father down in Puerto Rico and dragged cross-country. And now, hunting evidence to exonerate himself from what was clearly a setup.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man who was clearly exhausted but who didn’t give up. A man, Stephanie thought, who’d sat motionless in her bedroom chair in the pre-dawn shadows, slouched, his dark eyes seeking </span>
  <em>
    <span>something</span>
  </em>
  <span> from her sleeping form. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wish I could have stayed with you this morning,” Stephanie volunteered quietly, glancing to make sure nobody was nearby. “I hope you were able to sleep after I left.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Babe,” Ranger’s voice caressed Stephanie’s ear. “Best I’ve slept in awhile.” He paused, then his voice went down another half octave as he added, “Maybe the best I’ve slept since Trenton. The only thing missing was you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shivered despite the warmth she felt fluttering through her body. “I’m glad,” she finally answered. Taking a deep breath she continued, “It was good to have you with me. Like the times we were together in Trenton and you’d stay over. I missed that.” Swallowing, she added, “And I missed you trusting me enough to just be with me, like that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Ranger’s steady breath over the phone, and it suddenly felt as though he were right next to her. “Babe,” he finally said, and Stephanie realized that her Ranger-to-English dictionary was slightly inadequate to the moment. It was like when she was first getting to know him. When she could discern his mood but not come close to his thoughts.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>By now, though, she knew that if she was patient there was a good chance he’d elaborate. While she waited, she ran her fingers idly over the legal pad on her table, the tickle of paper against her fingertips in tune with the muted hum she felt along her nerves. In the muffled drone of traffic coming through her headset, Stephanie sensed the fullness of Ranger; she felt his very self thrumming through the phone.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger finally repeated, the deep timbre of his voice rumbled. “Trusting you was never the issue.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie wished she were having this conversation back home, wrapped in Ranger’s arms in the early morning intimacy of her house. Somehow it was easier to say what she meant while half asleep. Or when her hands could telegraph her feelings lightly along Ranger’s biceps and shoulders; feathering her thoughts with her fingers through his hair as she memorized his handsome, contented face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Stephanie sat up as she realized that was the mistake she’d always made with Ranger. Because, words quickly evaporated in Ranger’s arms. Words unspoken left increasing mystery behind each remembered caress. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Stephanie’s spidey sense was telling her that ‘trusting’ had indeed been an issue. Or had veiled something else that Ranger didn’t want to mention. Trusting her instincts, Stephanie leaned forward, intent on the moment. “Ranger, no matter what, I’ve always trusted </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I still do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She inhaled, “But what matters to me is that I care about you. Even after all these years and what we’ve done and gone through.” A sudden smile flashed on her face and she couldn’t help adding with humor lacing her voice, “And Ranger, I guess you could say that I’ve always loved you, in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> own way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed softly on his end of the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But it’s true, Ranger. I always have. And I still do. And, yeah I know I should be better about saying these kinds of things face-to-face,” Stephanie shrugged. “That’s something I apparently don’t do well. But it doesn’t make my feelings any less true.” With sudden insight she added, “On the other hand, I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>maybe</span>
  </em>
  <span> there </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> be one or two teensy-tiny things you might not do well, but you hide them. It’s okay, though, because I don’t need you to be perfect. I just kinda like you to be yourself. That’s all I want.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>And for you to actually, you know, be around</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie frowned as Ranger’s silence extended. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally she heard Ranger’s exhale, a cross between amusement and something like affection. It was a sound she’d learned to interpret years ago.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” he said, his voice warm. “I hear you; everything you’re saying.” Ranger paused and Stephanie heard his GPS give instructions in the background. Then Ranger exhaled. “And I want to continue this conversation, but I need more time than we have, right now. I’m getting close to the address where I’m going.” Suddenly businesslike, Ranger confided, “We may be close to finding where Figueroa has hidden his sons, this time. Your friend Gerry may have hit the jackpot.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Whether Ranger’s comment was a deflection or simply practical, Stephanie felt her heart lift.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow Ranger, that’s really great news. You should have started with that.” Stephanie shook her head briefly. Lula was right: men really didn’t know how to talk. “How did you find out where to go?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The short version: Gerry tracked down Djaleo’s cousin from a tip I got this morning. Turns out the cousin fronted a few rooming house rentals for them and, well... I persuaded him to provide all of the addresses. He says there are kids in the newest one. That’s where I’m headed now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, I won’t keep you. Do you have time for a quick summary of what I found, so far, in that offline threats database I mentioned yesterday?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger made an affirmative sound, so she continued. “Okay, cut me off when you need to, but here are the high points. There’s definitely something odd about the ESL school that your targets attended. I have to check the dates, but I think it revamped a year-or-so after 9/11. The public records are minimal after that, but the reported origins of its students seems odd.” Stephanie’s voice trailed off while she tried to formulate what she’d seen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What do you mean, Babe?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m not an expert, but usually I see students in ESL classes who reflect the community around the school. In Minneapolis, like in Boston, that would mean some mix of Hispanic, Portuguese, Southeast Asian, and probably some Somalis since Minneapolis seems to be an area where that group of immigrants got settled. What I didn’t expect was the number from places like Croatia, Uzbekistan, Chechnya, and Yemen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhaling, Stephanie stopped herself before saying that it sounded like the locations she heard about when she’d attended “Homeless Veterans” events earlier in the year. Locations that had left men, and a couple of women, shaken to the point that they were living on the streets. She had suddenly realized that they were also probably places Ranger had been during his time in Special Forces. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie suddenly felt quite sober.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Ranger replied, then agreed, “That doesn’t sound like the mix I’d expect either, not even if it were in New York. Those sound more like tactical hotspots than a random group of countries with immigrants in mid-America.” Stephanie heard his thoughtful exhale. “Maybe they were people the military brought back after compromising their situation on the ground.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, in a tone Stephanie remembered from Rangeman briefings, Ranger simply said, “Continue.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay. One name, Sertorius Trust, keeps coming up. Or variations of that name. It’s like a shell company or something. It’s on the board of directors for that Minnesota ESL school where your guys all went. It also owns a construction company hours away in Detroit that hired some of the ESL students. Then, it seems involved in some insurance claim in Portland, Maine.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie paused briefly to straighten the printouts in front of her. “That Portland reference caught my eye since you trailed your target Figueroa there. Also, I remember you said that the Aburek guy was an explosives expert and his cousin got blown up in a building explosion in Portland.” Stephanie reached for a large paper clip for her printouts. She didn’t add that the name Sertorius Trust had simply made her whole spine tingle, even the first time she’d seen it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I agree Steph,” Ranger’s baritone voice reassured Stephanie over the phone. “I’m just trying to remember why that name sounds familiar. I can’t quite place it though.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I’m going to start another query that looks just for that name before I leave. Also, I’m going to bring home some information I found on a few other students from the ESL school. It’s like there’s a migration of them. Figueroa and your guys have been moving toward Boston, and there’s another group that seems to have been moving toward DC. I can’t quite explain it, but it just doesn’t look normal.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, I trust your instincts implicitly,” Ranger’s voice rumbled low in Stephanie’s ear, warming her from the inside. Then, with a hint of amusement he added, “And I’m trusting you, too, that you’re staying safe while you look through this stuff.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted. “Come on Ranger.” She shook her head as she started loading her printouts and memory stick into her purse. “You gotta work harder at the trust thing. That sounds more like an order masquerading as praise. As a mom I totally recognize the technique.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh. “You got me, Babe. But maybe think of it more like an old mule learning new paces. We may have to repeat things a few times before I get it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“An old mule?” Stephanie blurted. After all, she might sometimes think of Ranger as though he were like a thoroughbred racehorse—muscular, proud, and powerful—and boy was that a rousing image to defer until a more private moment…. But, Stephanie never thought of Ranger as a mule. Let alone an old one. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“West Point joke, Babe. The mascot’s a mule and there’s been one called ‘Ranger’ for years.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed in turn. “Okay. Another case of learning something new-and-puzzling every day.” More softly she affirmed, “But I promise I’ll try really hard to understand when you check that I’m being sensible.” Stephanie looked down. “I know you had to clean up after me more than a few times back in Trenton.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie had a mental montage of Ranger getting shot while helping Stephanie: first shot in the leg by Lonnie Dodd, then shot in the arm by Sophia DeStefano while Ranger helped her find Dougie and Mooner. She envisioned Ranger awake day and night tracking her when Constantine Stiva had abducted her. She saw him tracking where the Slayers had abducted her. She imagined him taking out </span>
  <span>Eddie Abruzzi, though she had never asked and he had never told how Abruzzi ended up dead in his car within hours of threatening her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Only a second or two had passed, but it felt longer to Stephanie. She squared her shoulders. “Well, Ranger, I’ll be honest and admit you had to clean up after me more than a few times. And, I know sometimes you had to do some of those morally gray things that the rest of us don’t want to know about. So it’s kinda fair if it takes you a few times to believe me when I tell you I’m being cautious.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie worried her lower lip while she waited through Ranger’s extended quiet. “So Ranger,” Stephanie finally said, taking care to project humor in her voice. “This is the part of the conversation where </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> say something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, sorry Steph. Just got a text. I gotta go.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie answered, snorting as she remembered how that phrase had ended dozens of conversations with Ranger in Trenton. “Don’t get shot,” she couldn’t help adding.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard Ranger’s exhaled humor. “Don’t go crazy Babe,” he replied as his phone clicked off. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled. Badass Ranger—bounty hunter with two guns and a knife, and the focus of a hungry mountain lion—was back on the job. Minimal phone manners, and all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood up, gathering her coat and bags to check-in with Winkelsteen before braving the snow to head across the street for her next meeting. As she put her phone in her purse, Stephanie realized she'd forgotten to check that Ranger had gotten her text earlier today about coming to dinner tonight. If she had a moment during her next meeting, she'd send another. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She knew Ranger wouldn’t take a break from important work just to humor her. But she hoped he could take an evening to simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>rest</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To eat dinner; to lean back on the sofa; to watch hockey or a movie. To watch with bemusement as her girls tried to fib about their homework, teased each other, and herded upstairs to sleep. To simply spend a few hours in the warm light of her house rather than in the dark of the early winter’s night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She also hoped they could continue the conversation they’d started in the early hours this morning. Hitching her purse onto her shoulder, Stephanie hoped she could find the courage to tell Ranger some of the things she’d admitted while talking with Lula, when the time was right.</span>
</p>
<p>
  
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0023"><h2>23. Moving Forward</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 23: Moving Forward</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger rolled his shoulders as he ended his call with Stephanie. He should never be surprised at what she could find out. Whether it was from talking to people or doing computer searches. What was truly unique was how she could put innuendo together with overheard conversations and data from searches and figure out things that took others weeks or months to puzzle through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger stretched his neck side-to-side as though he was preparing for action. Not much action at the moment, driving through the city through plump wisps of half-melted snow, but he felt in his bones that it was coming. He was suddenly glad that he’d taken the time for </span>
  <em>
    <span>cafecita</span>
  </em>
  <span> and a good meal this morning. A good </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cuban</span>
  </em>
  <span> meal, Ranger amended; for the first time in a while he felt grounded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his lips quirked unconsciously into a smile, Ranger considered that he also felt something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied</span>
  </em>
  <span>. At least, that’s what he thought the feeling was. He’d been thinking of Stephanie, musing on the life she’d built and the fact that she’d let him into it with such grace, and then she’d called. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And they’d talked. It had mostly been business—his business—but damn if it hadn’t felt like the type of natural conversations he’d remembered. The conversations that mingled business with personal, that entwined Ranger’s experience with Stephanie’s scene-clearing intuition, and that had hooked him back in Trenton.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shaking his head, Ranger recalled himself to the moment. Alex Garcia, formerly from Ranger’s Padilla Cigar youth soccer team in Miami and now with the FBI, had just texted him back. Alex was in a secure location for Ranger to call. After all, that was why he’d ended his conversation with Stephanie just now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unconsciously checking that his perimeter was free so he could concentrate, Ranger glanced at his rear-view mirror. The damned exterminator's truck was still right behind him, having followed Ranger’s Ford Explorer through two right turns. Scanning quickly, Ranger spotted a break in traffic and slid quickly to the left lane and turned sharply into the parking lot of a rundown tool and die shop. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slowing to a crawl in case he’d need to maneuver his truck, Ranger looked in his far-side mirror to scan the street he’d just left. With a satisfied exhale, Ranger watched as the previously-tailing “Bug-i-Nator” truck continued straight through the intersection without changing speed, still heading southwest.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, probably not a tail. Especially given the obviousness of the truck with its Volkswagen-sized metal cockroach welded to its roof, legs-up. Ranger felt an upwelling of amusement that quirked his lips into a brief smile: he was beginning to see how his Babe felt at home here in Boston. Though admittedly the “Bug-i-Nator” truck was nowhere near as surreal as yesterday’s line of red suited, white bearded Santas that had wrapped around a store in the parking lot of a strip mall. Or the perplexing group of zombie impersonators in Walgreens last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yet, when he thought of Boston as Stephanie’s town, they all somehow made sense. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger pursed his lips; the whimsical </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stephanie-ness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of his surroundings didn’t discount that the conspicuous “Bug-i-Nator” truck might have been a distraction. With that thought, Ranger pulled out into traffic heading the opposite way that he’d originally been heading and switched to his on-screen GPS view of nearby roads to find a tail-eluding path that would get him headed back the way he was going.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call Alex Garcia,” Ranger instructed briskly, knowing that he could’ve dialed the number by memory if he weren’t driving. Of course, it helped that he’d just learned the number a little over three weeks ago. Listening to his truck’s console dial Alex’s secure cellphone, Ranger mused at the irony of his current situation. Ranger was about to rely on a man who he hadn’t seen since they’d been teenagers, while staying in the house of a woman he thought he’d left behind seven years ago.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged; time and necessity conspired to remind him of his conspicuous relationship shortcomings in new and unsubtle ways.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Garcia here,” a tenor voice asserted over the truck’s speaker. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Alex,” Ranger acknowledged, “I think I may be about to find my two birds that flew the nest.” Ranger relied on having described the bare bones of his original case to Alex when he’d first called while still heading toward Portland. It was an interstate, parental child abduction. Two boys lifted from Puerto Rico by their father and taken across numerous state lines. Something an FBI agent would immediately understand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The only challenge was that Ranger had needed to finesse a reason why the case was in Ranger’s hands. Which meant weaving a plausible story about why the case had been lying fallow in the San Juan FBI field office. Extending the truth only slightly, Ranger had explained that a caseworker had reached out to Ranger. He’d hinted that jurisdiction was blurred since neither of the parents were U.S. citizens and the marriage certificate was from Suriname, whose legal system was somewhat porous. In other words, the marriage itself could be considered questionable. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>To keep Alex safe—to keep him from trying to investigate the case within the FBI, possibly alerting whoever had silenced Ranger’s original contact Tino Clark—Ranger had also insinuated that inter-agency politics were involved. That was close to the truth, as was Ranger’s assertion that careers were at risk. Further, Ranger had implied that he needed the money and the reputational boost from this job. That wasn’t as true, but gave Alex a reason to leave it in Ranger’s hands for a while.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ultimately, though, he’d relied on Alex’s familiarity with the principled Mañoso family and memories of the young Carlos Mañoso he’d played soccer with in Miami. And, Ranger had known that an FBI agent with Alex’s experience would look up Ranger’s background and hoped he’d see enough there to trust Ranger’s motives and honor. At least for a few weeks, after which Ranger might need a new plan.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Similarly, Ranger had relied on his own memories of Alex as an observant and inconspicuously cunning young man. By insisting that calls be made on untraced devices, in secure locations, Ranger had hinted broadly at the need for caution. And hoped that Alex was still the careful person he remembered.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger knew he’d succeeded in conveying caution when Alex continued Ranger’s “bird” imagery in his casual reply. “Sounds good. So are you suiting up for the turkey blind right now?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, about to head in for a better sighting.” Ranger answered, reminded that Alex’s family had supplemented their income by accompanying out-of-state hunters on turkey and duck hunts during the season. Something that Ranger’s Abuela Mañoso had disdained as being beneath a good Cuban family. Shrugging, Ranger wryly recognized that having hunting experience had made Alex an expert tracker and patient sharpshooter years before Ranger had pridefully acquired those skills.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While watching traffic and preparing for a U-turn, Ranger continued, “But I have a recent, fairly solid tip. If I get a positive sighting, I may need to move fast.” Spotting a break in traffic, Ranger accelerated into his turn, now headed back toward the apartment building where he hoped to find the two missing boys that Mateus Figueroa had taken from his ex-wife in Puerto Rico months ago. It was his original case, before his native curiosity had uncovered something bigger. Before his own carelessness had gotten him arrested. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Carlos,” Alex replied, using the name that had been Ranger’s during his Miami years. “Where are you? Still up north, or did you get down to Fall River or Providence like you planned?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Actually, I’m in Boston. Headed toward Dudley Square right now.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That helps. There’s a big office there. And the good news is that, after Whitey Bulger and his band of morons made them all look stupid, most of that office is from other regions, like mine. I know a few agents there. Let me see who might be able to mobilize and I’ll text you a number to call if you confirm those missing fledglings of yours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks.” Ranger answered as he scanned traffic again. “Appreciate the help.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No hay de qué,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Alex answered in Spanish for the first time since Ranger had first reached out to him weeks ago, in an overt verbal nod to their shared Cuban Miami background. “No need to thank me. At least, not yet,” Alex amended gruffly. “You got all the legal apprehension paperwork with you? Anyone I send is not going to know you, and they’re gonna want proof that you’re not some crazy stalker. After all, you’ve tracked these kids across state lines, which for us Feebs is like leaving a blood lure for foxes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “All set.” He’d been able to retrieve the needed paperwork from scans on his secure remote computer. And he had his licenses back in order also, care of a few overnight FedEx packages. No need to let Alex know that Ranger had been rolled here in Boston, if he didn’t already know. Though Ranger wouldn’t be surprised if Alex did.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay I gotta go,” Ranger said as he spotted the street leading to the apartment building where he was headed. “Just text to the same number as before.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it,” Alex answered. “Good hunting.” Ranger grunted a reply as Alex ended the call. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger slowed his truck as he began surveillance of the neighborhood. It was another block of non-descript rundown apartment buildings dating from the turn of the twentieth century intermingled with empty lots and a few three-storey houses like Stephanie’s, though in significantly worse repair. Not even the picturesque patina of freshly fallen snow could make this neighborhood inviting in the fading afternoon light. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove slowly in front of the building that Djaleo’s cousin Isaiah had identified earlier, after Gerry had tracked him down and Ranger had cornered him. It was another aging apartment building with stained artificial siding and peeling asphalt shingles. Ranger slowed further, as though he was gauging a parking space on the street. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having already spotted the chairs, folding tables, bent lamps, and even a broken toilet sitting in the street to reserve parking spaces, Ranger knew that this wasn’t a neighborhood where he could casually park. Well, with a car like his he’d look like a narco-executive anyway, and would have all eyes on him as soon as he stepped from his truck. So Ranger made a show of shrugging in case anyone could see his form through the tinted windows, and sped up slightly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d seen what he’d needed in that quick pass. It was a neighborhood where people didn’t look each other in the eye as they passed. The building in question had space on either side and a phalanx of rusting dumpsters he could use for cover. Even better, the next building on the right gazed down with dark garbage bags over broken windows. So, fewer prying eyes on that side. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger drove for a few blocks until he could tell he had no tails, then took a left, followed by a right into a shuttered 1950s-style gas station. He pulled behind a parked aluminum-sided food truck, making sure his tires had traction and that he was angled for a quick getaway. He then turned off his car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the thinning fall of snow from his windshield, Ranger started reviewing his approach. Rooting through his bags of supplies, he pulled out the knit watch cap that his bondsman Stoney had brought to the jail last weekend when bonding out Ranger. He turned and reached into the backseat for the used, hooded winter coat he’d picked up at the Goodwill resale shop. It was faded enough to fit into this neighborhood, and the hood would help shadow his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following up on that thought, Ranger pulled out his makeup kit and sketched-in reddish eyebrows, beard and mustache stubble. Another way, he’d found in the past, to throw off casual descriptions of him later. After a quick glance in the mirror, Ranger left the truck and started walking toward the apartment building. He kept his steps within tire tracks and other footsteps for the first block, looking to obscure his path. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Walking the seams in the road, Ranger recalled a moment from one of his last missions in Special Forces. Both he and Tank had been there, in Fallujah. Walking in the dented line of old traffic, there had been a similar quiet bubble around him, with the sound of vehicles and strained daily life in the distance. It had been a similar run-down neighborhood, though the dimmed daylight had been due to the </span>
  <em>
    <span>souk’s </span>
  </em>
  <span>overhanging buildings and narrow streets in the incipient evening, rather than clouds and feathers of drifting snow.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For the first time in a while, Ranger wished he had Tank at his shoulder; Tank would’ve remember the scene after just a word or a phrase. He would recognize the path Ranger’s mind had taken, recalling that the events of that long-ago evening had started with getting intel from someone in a kitchen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course in Fallujah Ranger had been facing a man wielding a cleaver. Here in Boston, Ranger had simply been facing a nervous young dishwasher who was clearly intimidated by Ranger’s size and aura of calm menace. And obviously more worried about his green card status and personal safety than about family loyalty.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In fact, Djaleo’s cousin Isaiah had been… quite accommodating after Ranger had given an outline of the situation Djaleo had embroiled him in. Ranger had shown Isaiah his surveillance picture of Stephanie’s skip Fennelly giving Isaiah money outside of Geary’s pub a few nights ago, explained that Fennelly was facing trial, and implied that Isaiah could be an accessory to Fennelly’s activities. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was a story built on a scaffolding of truth and innuendo, but it paid off when Isaiah had visibly paled. After a couple of deep breaths, he’d blurted that all he’d done was to take money for securing a string of no-tell apartments across the Boston area for the past few weeks. With a slight bead of sweat appearing around his hairline, Isaiah had then stammered out the addresses for Ranger, who’d recorded the conversation on his phone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had nodded, recognizing several of the addresses from his own reconnaissance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Isaiah had finished, Ranger had exhaled, knowing his face had a grim cast. “That address on Council Street that you mentioned,” Ranger had said while making a show of putting away his phone next to his gun holster. “A man was found dead in that apartment the other day.” As he’d said that, Ranger had visualized Krc lying in a pool of sticky, drying blood. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isaiah had gulped, the sight of his Adam's apple bobbing on his neck reminding Ranger of numerous interrogations in his past. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know a thing about that,” the slim dishwasher had blurted out, eyes wide, in a light lilting accent that suggested Trinidad or perhaps Grenada. “I just find the apartments.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger just stared at the younger man, knowing the power of silence in the face of fear. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isaiah finally asked, “Was it that man?” Breathing quickly, he added, “You know, that man who they said who was tracking them cross-country? Who they wanted to get out of the way?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger answered as he stepped closer to the smaller man. “That would be me,” he said almost conversationally, overlaid by the quiet threat in his tone and posture. Isaiah had gulped again, and leaned back toward the counter, away from Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh God,” the dishwasher gasped. “I don’t know anything about that either. In truth. Just that they were worried about some guy tracking them.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger had continued staring, pursing his lips while he considered the most effective way to make the young dishwasher sweat. Then the door between the restaurant’s kitchen and this room, with its dishwashing sink, swung open behind Isaiah. A dark, middle-aged man bustled in with a gray utility bucket of dirty dishes that he put next to the sink. The man’s eyes flicked to Isaiah, then to Ranger, and then he averted his eyes as he scurried back out of the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Smart man</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger thought, thanking the sliver of good fortune that had led him to arrive mid-afternoon while this hole-in-the-wall restaurant was mostly empty. He didn’t truly have paperwork or a pretext to pull Isaiah out of the restaurant to a private location—say, in the alley—so it was a stroke of luck that Ranger had a window of time to question Isaiah in the relative privacy of the restaurant’s dish room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at Isaiah more closely, Ranger had realized that the young man was perilously close to the piss-his-pants stage. Which had told Ranger that the dishwasher probably was a relative innocent in the whole scorpion’s nest where he’d suddenly found himself. And it also had told Ranger that he needed to back off to avoid panicking the man beyond his ability to cooperate. Someone not used to functioning through fear would just turn into a jabbering idiot if pushed too hard.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And after all, Ranger shrugged to himself, he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> make Isaiah piss his pants later if that proved useful.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Ranger had backed up slightly and kept his hands visible. “It seems to me that your cousin Amadeo may have gotten you into something more dangerous than you knew,” Ranger had said in a deceptively mild tone, referring to Isaiah’s cousin, Amadeo Djaleo. Though he was a secondary player in whatever Ranger had uncovered, Djaleo increasingly seemed like a go-between for the men Ranger was tracking. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ranger knew that family ties would keep the young dishwasher in front of him silent regarding his cousin. Ranger mentally shrugged, then asked in a mild tone, “Maybe you can tell me a bit about Fennelly, the man in the picture I showed you. The man handing you money.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s his name? Fennelly? I’ve never known him before ’Deo—that’s Amadeo, my cousin—he introduced us like a month ago. ’Deo said I could make some quick dosh, small money, by helping out that man. You know: a little extra I can send home to my family. And ’Deo said no one would find out because they gave me other people’s names to use. He said they was people with no green card yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How does your cousin know him?” Ranger had asked.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That I don’t know, in truth. All I know is that man, Fennelly, he works for the same guy that my cousin ’Deo works for in Fall River. ’Deo told me he didn’t know that man, Fennelly, before. But here in Boston, Fennelly has got the checkbook. ”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who pays your cousin in Fall River?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't know that. Not at all. Even 'Deo says he doesn't know the man's name.” Isaiah had looked up at Ranger then, briefly meeting his eyes. “But I do know from ’Deo that, whoever his boss is, he was pissed that the guys with ’Deo played with you. That is, if you’re the man who’s been tracking them. ’Deo said he thinks somebody upstairs don’t want you dead. Like maybe it would be too obvious, or too many people would notice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isaiah had looked back down and mumbled, “Me… they don’t give a crap about me or my family.” He inhaled and looked at Ranger again, worry clear in his expression. “You said somebody was killed in a place I rented... do you know who it was?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A man named Mirko Krc. Had a big scar on his face.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh man, I met that guy once. He was scary, a real gangster-man, that’s the truth. Whoever killed him must be even worse.” Isaiah had reached up to wipe his sweaty forehead, then stopped as his eyes rocketed back to Ranger’s. “It wasn’t you that killed him, was it?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger had felt his lip quirk briefly in dark amusement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"By God," Isaiah began, then his eyes had slid back to the kitchen door, where a boy was peering through the opening. Isaiah had put his hand up in a pushing motion, but the boy misinterpreted it and slid through the door over to Isaiah. The boy’s wide, brown eyes had glanced at Ranger, then looked up at Isaiah, whose arm had snaked out around the youth’s slim shoulders.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Standing straighter, Isaiah had looked at Ranger with a glimmer of determination in his eyes for the first time. "Whatever you’re here for… you need to leave me and mine out of it. Just be gone from here, man. I gave you the addresses; that’s all I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger, who’d been preparing to intimidate Isaiah further to see what he knew about Krc or any of the other men Ranger was tracking, looked at the boy tucked under the dishwasher’s arm. Ranger had seen the awe, the trust in the boy’s face. He’d seen that look before. He’d stood at this knife’s edge of decision in the field: rough up a man in front of his children, or risk missing intel that could save men already in position.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Entre la espada y la pared</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger remembered his abuelo’s phrase. Between a sword and the wall, or between a rock and a hard place, with seconds ticking. At the horns of a dilemma where each horn had a good chance of leading to the devil.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was the sort of moral impasse that Ranger had mostly left behind in Fallujah, in Basrah, or before that in Kandahar, Khost, Ghazni…. in so many places. In locations he was trained to not identify even in his sleep. Ranger had come back to the States determined to not become the type of man for whom such decisions were commonplace or easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing a car engine gun in the distance, attempting to get traction on a slushy street, Ranger was suddenly aware of the moist snow starting to stick to his watch cap and dabbing his eyebrows in cold moisture. He realized that he’d walked at least a block away from his truck, toward the apartment building, lost in memory. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good job being aware of your surroundings</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger shook his head, realizing ruefully that he’d heard Stephanie teasing him in his head again.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled briefly under his breath, then continued toward the apartment building while scanning cars, buildings, and shadows for threats. Spotting an alley that led in the correct direction, Ranger drifted toward its entrance. No footprints marked the snow in the narrow passage, but falling clumps of snow from the adjacent roofs had disturbed the smooth surface, and there were dumpsters in the distance. Ranger nodded at the evidence that his own footprints wouldn’t be remarkable, and started down the alley.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he prowled down the narrow, littered passage, Ranger reflected on how Djaleo’s cousin the dishwasher had more information than he’d consciously known. Not something that surprised Ranger: people often knew pieces of the puzzle without knowing the whole.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In this case, Isaiah’s most useful puzzle piece had been revealed when Ranger had backed off, feeling the gaze of the child nestled under the hesitant dishwasher’s arm. At that point, Ranger had simply asked Isaiah to identify the most recent addresses he’d rented with Fennelly’s money.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Isaiah had swallowed, his eyes darting as though he was looking for the answer to be written in the air around him. He’d then stammered out two addresses, one that he hadn’t mentioned before. Then he’d added, “And that last one, I know someone’s in it, but it’s just kids and a woman, I swear.” At Ranger’s suddenly pointed glare, Isaiah had added, “For truth, they just a couple boys. They’re sons of one of those </span>
  <em>
    <span>badjohns</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those crazy bad men that even ’Deo wants to get away from.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Ranger’s non-committal grunt, Isaiah had looked down, “They made his woman take care of those boys for more than a week. She said those boys don’t know nothing. They just miss their momma and should go home, wherever that be.” Then Isaiah had looked up again, “Look, man, ’Deo said this is more than he signed up for. And me? You know I didn’t even sign up. Man, I’m a dishwasher. And when times are good I work a second job stocking after hours at the Walgreens. I don’t want no trouble.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While impassively staring at Isaiah, Ranger had quickly assessed the situation</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> Isaiah had very possibly just given Ranger the current address for the two missing boys he’d originally set out to find. The sons of Mateus Figueroa, abducted from Puerto Rico, and their mother, close to three months ago. The case that Tino Clark had hired him to solve. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing that case had to be Ranger’s top priority. Primarily because it involved children at risk. And also because it established an obvious reason why he’d been tracking the men who’d set him up. In fact, it supplied a circumstantial reason for why they’d set Ranger up for the gang hit in Boston, for which Ranger was currently out on bail. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, it didn’t provide nearly enough evidence to prove that it was, indeed, a setup. And, though Djaleo’s cousin Isaiah connected a couple of the men Ranger was tracking, he truly didn’t know enough to clear Ranger of the gang shooting. More ominously, the dishwasher had unwittingly rented the apartment where Krc had been murdered. Isaiah was more closely tied to that death than Ranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the final analysis, involving Isaiah with the police or the FBI wouldn’t clear Ranger but could get a relatively helpless man into a deep well of trouble that he might never escape. Ranger had looked at the boy tucked under Isaiah’s arm, and known what he had to do.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Ranger had simply thanked Isaiah for his help. Though he couldn’t make any promises, Ranger had said that he’d keep his conversation with Isaiah a secret. Unless of course, Ranger had an iron-clad certainty he could protect the dishwasher and his family. Then he’d left the restaurant as covertly as he’d arrived, and driven toward the building that he was now viewing.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>From the rear, it was as run-down as the front. A tired building in a weary neighborhood. Ranger could almost feel the fatigue leaching from the doors and windows and drooping from the weight of sloppy snow on the roofs. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Ranger shook his head. He had a job to do. There were likely two abducted boys in the building in front of him. Boys who were far away from home and probably scared. Probably being guarded also, even if only by Djaleo’s wife. The more civilians were involved in a recovery situation, the more dangerous it became. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Nodding to himself, Ranger began scanning the building to get a sense of the activity within it, and around it. He began walking its perimeter, as he’d done on countless missions, cataloguing windows, doors, lights, the flicker of televisions, and the occasional sounds from inside and around the building. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Blending into the shadows around the building like a leopard in the skirting the underbrush, Ranger was getting ready to spring into action.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0024"><h2>24. Taking Action</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 24: Taking Action </b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger leaned back, blending with the shadows, as he scoped the building Isaiah the dishwasher had identified as a likely location for the two boys Ranger had been tracking for almost three months. Ranger hadn’t yet gotten a sense whether residents in this building were likely to be at work during the day, or inside sleeping off the night’s activities. It was the type of neighborhood where either was equally likely. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he’d approached, Ranger had circled around and mapped which windows were lit. Wan lights shown from only a few windows on the side he was watching, with flickers in a few of them indicating current habitation. A couple of them lined up with what Isaiah had told him about the apartment he’d rented in this building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A spiral of rusting fire escape ledges and drop-ladders fringed the rear and side of the building, but none dropped to the ground. So, a potential escape but not an entrance. Ranger shrugged; even if it was overcast, it was still daytime. He’d avoid the fire escapes until dark, if he was still here that long.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While he watched, a glow appeared for a few minutes and then was extinguished in one narrow window. Ranger saw that it was in vertical row of twin windows from the second floor upward. Probably a bathroom stack, then, setting apart the apartments in the front of the building from those in the rear. A blank expanse of wall down the rear corner showed where an inside rear staircase led to the back exit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having been inside countless buildings of the type, Ranger could visualize the floor plan in his mind. It was a four-storey rectangle with four-to-five units per floor. Stairs in the front and also the back meant there was a hallway separating apartments on the left from those on the right. A lit cellar window on the building’s other side had revealed an old oil tank and furnace for the building. On this side, the equivalent window was dark. Perhaps a dingy apartment; perhaps storage.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger looked up; the sky was still heavy, the afternoon light was subdued though the snow had mostly stopped falling. The sound of cars slushed by in the distance and occasional muffled voices pushed against the dampened air.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Satisfied that the day would remain shadowed, Ranger prowled back toward the rear of the building. He confirmed quickly that the security camera pointing toward the rear door was the fake, cheap type that one could buy from home security magazines, with an LED indicating it was recording but without any actual camera hardware inside. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A slim, bundled figure ducked out from the building’s rear door and darted into the alley from which Ranger had come. Seeing no flickers or moving shadows in surrounding windows, Ranger ghosted toward the door just before it closed. As he slipped a gloved hand between the door and the frame, he realized he hadn’t needed to wait for someone to leave; there was a flap of old duct tape over the door’s latch. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger slipped in the door, into a gray inner stairwell. He paused, looking back at the door’s lock. Grimacing briefly, he peeled away the cracking duct tape. Ranger was an opportunist, and not sorry to have taken advantage of the building’s lax security. But Christ, he’d seen far too many people in rundown buildings, in crappy neighborhoods all over the world, put at risk because a few residents made a door or window insecure for their own convenience.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now in the darkened stairwell, Ranger opened his coat, quickly changed from winter gloves to a pair of medical gloves, and pulled out a small LED keychain light. He started padding up the stairs, his free hand angled toward the weapons harness he had on his chest, hidden by his coat. Ranger quickly double-checked that the flap was open over his gun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thinking about his likely upcoming encounter with the FBI, Ranger was glad that he’d had his own, licensed guns couriered to him the other day. He exhaled in fleeting amusement, wondering what Stephanie’s downstairs neighbor thought Ranger was receiving in all of the FedEx and courier packages for which she’d signed. Perhaps she imagined he had a lively eBay habit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pulling his hand from his coat, Ranger scowled briefly at the feeling of his empty knife sheath, but he’d left the knife in his truck since it wasn’t street-legal. With a sardonic smile at himself, Ranger realized it was a bit ridiculous to feel naked given the two guns he still carried, plus the wire, roll of quarters, and even the pens in one of his cargo pockets that he could use as makeshift weapons if needed.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Slight creaks in the old wood under his feet, peeling paint with half-obliterated markings, and burned out light fixtures in the stairwell told him volumes about the building’s age and state of indifferent neglect. It was the type of building that would rent a monthly apartment to someone posing as an undocumented immigrant with dodgy paperwork. Someone exactly like Isaiah the dishwasher, in fact. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Pausing at the first landing, Ranger listened for activity. Nothing notable in the hallway behind the door; nobody else in the stairwell with him. Ranger then continued his methodical climb to the next floor; the one where he believed the missing boys were being lodged. Ranger checked the doorknob and then slowly opened the stairwell door enough to see down the hallway. Three doors on the left, two on the right. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger propped his foot against the door and then stilled, extending his senses. The smell of cooking mingled with wet wool, mildew, cardboard, plumbing, the general stale smell of bodies, and a hint of ammonia or Windex. Nothing particularly unusual. The sound of television entwined with music and bursts of voices came from above and below; however, on this floor Ranger could hear sounds from four of the five apartments.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could also hear the buzzing of the transformer on one of the hallway’s fluorescent ceiling lights. Looking up, Ranger saw through the yellowed, acrylic panel on the light that one of the bulbs nearest to him had clearly burned out. The far fixture was the one he heard, with a bulb flickering behind the shadow of dead bugs and dust. Ranger nodded to himself; he’d need to be slightly more alert to movement in his periphery since he knew his mind might dismiss flickers as being simply changes in the hallway lighting.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the same glance down the hall, Ranger could see that the apartment doors were scuffed, with metal frames and likely deadbolt locks. A small peephole stared blankly from each door. Ranger felt his lip quirk upward, noting that someone had recently taped a blue paper notice on each door—ironically warning about recent break-ins—covering each apartment’s number. Ranger shook his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Isaiah had told Ranger that he’d rented a corner apartment on the side of the building currently on Ranger’s left. So it was one of the two doors on that side. Based on disturbances in the drift of dust along the worn carpeting on the far end of the hallway, Ranger guessed he was looking for the far apartment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger put away his LED keychain light, straightened his shoulders and readied himself for action. Just as he was about to head into the hall, the door to the apartment he was scoping opened unexpectedly. Ranger backed into the dark stairwell and pulled the hallway door so there was only a slit for him to look from. He angled himself to see the edge of the open apartment door just as a slim figure leaned out of the apartment, looking both ways. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger held his breath as the person in the apartment doorway leaned back inside. He'd been in this position literally hundreds of times in dozens of countries, and his senses were alert to map out his next move. While he watched, Ranger’s memory served up similar events, as though they could help him determine what to do in the current moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He could almost see an early redecoration job in Trenton where a young gang tough had hovered in a doorway next to the apartment Ranger was watching. Bolting out of the door, the hooded figure had held an oversized street-cannon style gun sideways like in movies and headed directly to where Ranger was hidden. In that case, Ranger had quickly ascended enough stairs to be invisible, and had nabbed the escaping gang banger as soon as he'd entered the stairwell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Overlaying that image, Ranger remembered another hallway where one of Stephanie's more dangerous skips had appeared from behind a door. The man had been heading straight for where Stephanie was hiding. In the space between one breath and the next, Ranger had burst from his own hiding place, grabbed the man by the collar, and slammed the man into the wall to incapacitate him. It had happened so fast that Stephanie hadn’t even been aware until after Ranger called to her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, just now, seeing a shadow move in the apartment door he was watching from his dark stairwell, Ranger's memory conjured a similar enclosed hallway in far-away Ghazni. It was a moment he sometimes still saw in dreams: a man, head-to-toe in black, had slipped from behind a curtained door holding a young girl with a knife at her throat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger still remembered the look in the girl’s midnight eyes, the thin line of blood from a nick under her chin staining her embroidered neckline, as Ranger had snapped his gun up into a makeshift sniper’s shot. Seconds later, Ranger had felt time slow as the girl broke free from her captor at the same time the knife-wielding man crumpled to the floor from Ranger’s bullet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head, took a deep breath, and rolled his shoulders quickly to ground himself. What his memories told him was something Ranger already knew: he was fully in-the-moment when faced with danger and he thought on his feet. And, Ranger smiled grimly to himself, he had a bit more experience with turning around FUBAR situations than most people.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing shuffling from the hallway, Ranger peeked through the still-open slit in the stairwell door. As he watched, the person he’d seen before stepped furtively out of the apartment door, closing it quietly. In the hallway light Ranger could see it was a slim woman, dressed in a faded and patched coat, with a mismatched and well-used plaid hunter’s hat with fake-fur earflaps and bill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the flickering fluorescent light, her eyes looked tired and older than her face. A lumpy oversized bag and a large purse were strung over her shoulder. But most of the woman’s attention was on the small child—perhaps a year old—hugged to her shoulder. She juggled briefly and locked the door behind her, took a ragged breath that Ranger could hear, and then started down the hallway in the other direction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger heard a car horn from the front of the building and saw the woman’s head jerk up. “C’mon baby we go,” he heard her murmur in a sing-song voice. Her pace increased as she started down the front stairs, her footfalls trotting unevenly like a child headed out after school. “Stay quiet baby, we get in the car, we just go now,” her voice lilted up the stairs behind her as Ranger moved into the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had a moment to decide: from her accent she was from the same island as Isaiah the dishwasher and his cousin Amadeo Djaleo. From Isaiah’s comments, and the evidence of the baby at her shoulder, Ranger was willing to bet he had just seen Djaleo’s wife. And probably either Djaleo or Isaiah was in the car out front. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger could chase after the woman and no-doubt collar her before she left the building’s front door, encumbered as she was. Or he could race down the rear stairs and sprint to the front of the building in time to corner both the woman and the car’s driver, taking advantage of the time it would take her to get into the car with her unwieldy bags and child. Ranger was sure he could bring enough pressure to compel Djaleo to tell him what the hell was going on. At least as much as Djaleo knew.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Djaleo even knew something useful about the goddamned frame-job that had gotten Ranger arrested. Maybe enough to take to the cops and a judge. Maybe enough to get Ranger cleared. Maybe… But Ranger had a strong sense that Djaleo was a go-between, much like his cousin Isaiah, with little in the way of details. And from circumstantial evidence, Djaleo’s wife was likely a relative innocent, pressed into duty to help her husband, ignorant of the bigger picture and lacking money or other help.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the seconds it took for him to review his options relative to Djaleo, Ranger had started toward the apartment door. In the back of his mind he knew he’d heard sounds from inside the apartment while the woman had held the door open. There was a good chance that, inside, he’d find the boys he’d been tracking. Figueroa’s sons, whom he had legal reason to pursue. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>More importantly, they were two boys, abducted from their mother, possibly alone in a dangerous and unknown neighborhood. Two children whose father was clearly dangerous, and into something that even Stephanie could tell needed investigation in national security records to unravel.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was no chance that he’d leave two children in danger simply to clear his own name. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, Ranger realized as his intuition finally caught its breath and briefed his conscious mind, Ranger had no warrant or bond paperwork that would let him legally pursue Djaleo or his family. Any contact Ranger might make with Djaleo—any pressure Ranger might use to convince Djaleo to talk—would be seen as intimidation. In the eyes of the law, it would taint any evidence the man might provide on Ranger’s arrest or his broader pursuit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If Djaleo even had any evidence. Ranger had a strong suspicion that both Djaleo and his cousin Isaiah had been kept in the dark regarding the actions of Figueroa, and the now-deceased Krc. After all: Djaleo and Isaiah were both still alive.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger stopped in front of the apartment door. He pulled the blue paper notice from the door, revealing the apartment number and confirming that this was the apartment that the dishwasher Isaiah said he’d recently rented. Concentrating his senses on the apartment behind the door, Ranger picked out conversation above of the background noise of television. Hearing only youthful voices—or at least no adult males—Ranger reviewed his options for entering the apartment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Assuming these were indeed Figueroa’s abducted sons, Ranger was sure that the boys had been trained to hide when unknown people came to the door. It was even possible that they had access to a weapon and could escalate the situation before Ranger even entered the apartment. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Well screw it</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger shrugged as he pulled out his lock picking set. Sometimes the situation called for old-school tactics. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger started to feel the lock through the thin, hardened metal of his pick, a door opened at the other end of the hall. Shielding his hand to make it look like he was holding a key, Ranger glanced at the stooped, gray-haired man who stepped into the hallway. The older man angled his eyes toward Ranger briefly, then looked away in the age-old gesture that both acknowledged and deferred to threat. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded slightly, his expression blank in a measured reply that he knew the older man would interpret as “seen and dismissed.” His expectation was confirmed as the hunched man pulled his coat closed, rattled his own doorknob to signal that it was locked, and then slipped into the rear stairwell. Ranger listened to his footsteps and waited until he heard the older man leave through the rear door.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Turning back to the task at hand, Ranger pushed and twisted his pick until he heard the door’s bolt retract. With one more twist, the doorknob turned. Ranger removed his pick and nudged the door slightly open with his foot, his hands open but ready. His breath steady, Ranger looked inside to see what he’d hoped: the profiles of two boys sitting on a battered sofa, leaning forward to watch a movie on a small, battered television.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stepping back briefly, Ranger pulled out his phone and texted a code, followed by this apartment’s address. And, with that, Ranger had put the situation in the hands of the FBI contact provided earlier by his old friend Alex Garcia. The field agents who Ranger could trust to pick up and protect Figueroa’s sons, after he’d found them.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger slipped silently through the open apartment door, but it was enough movement for the nearer boy to notice. As the boy turned and gasped, Ranger held his hands away from his body, willing his face into what he imagined to be a warm expression. Ranger recognized each boy from the pictures Tino Clark had given him, back in Tino’s cluttered office at the start of this quest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The same boys, but wary. Skittish. Older.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello, you must be Hamidi and Joao,” Ranger said quietly as the first boy elbowed his brother, and they both looked at him in mingled surprise and fear. The older of the two boys sprung to his feet, moving in front of his brother. Ranger looked at the boy with approval: if memory served, he was barely nine years old, yet ready to protect his brother from Ranger himself.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Leave us alone,” the older boy said, staring at Ranger with determination. Frowning, the boy added, “Our aunt… she’ll be back any minute. And she’s coming back with our uncles and they’ll come beat you up.” As the older boy, Hamidi, spoke, the younger boy scrambled to his feet behind his older brother, and stared at Ranger with wide, light brown eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In a moment of irrelevance, it struck Ranger that boys this age should be in school this time of year. Instead they were watching an old cops-and-robbers movie, bundled in tattered sweaters in a cold apartment far from home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger moved slightly closer to the boys as he squatted down, eyes level with the younger one, Joao. Projecting warmth into his voice, Ranger said, “I know your mother.” He glanced between the boys, watching their reactions. “She misses you and asked me to help bring you back home to San Juan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’re lying,” Hamidi said, his close-set eyes still boring into Ranger’s. The younger boy peeked further out from behind his brother. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In truth, Ranger had never met their mother, Mateo Figueroa’s former wife, but he’d read all the intel Tino Clark had regarding Safiyya Figueroa. Remembering, Ranger said, “I have something to show you.” Ranger reached slowly into his padded coat for his document wallet, then pulled out a family picture of their mother and the two boys. It had probably been taken at a party or a street fair, perhaps a couple of years ago given the size difference of the boys versus the picture. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger held out the photo toward them. “She gave this to me, so you’d know to believe me when I found you.” Motionless, Ranger kept his expression calm, covering his discomfort with the white lie he had just told the two children. If he’d meant the boys harm, he could have said the exact same words, made the exact same gesture. And, Ranger’s stomach roiled briefly, in other more dangerous circumstances he had indeed resorted to leveraging children’s naiveté to get the information he needed.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smaller boy started to reach for the photo until his older brother held him back. “No Joao, we don’t know him,” Hamidi muttered. Ranger saw, though, the flash of emotion that had briefly illuminated Hamidi’s face. And the longing and confusion in the younger Joao’s expression was clear to see.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your mother misses you both, very much,” Ranger said, still holding out the picture. Improvising, Ranger added, “See, she gave me a picture with her in it, too. To tell you that you’ll be back with her soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamidi bit his lip, and suddenly Ranger could see the nine-year-old boy behind the determined youthful expression. “Our papa won’t let you,” Hamidi finally said, swallowing. “He’ll do anything to keep us with him and protect us from bad people." Hamidi raised his chin. "My papa will come find you and hurt you, and get us back. He’ll do anything for us.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger could hear their father’s coaching through the boy’s words. After all, it had been a couple of months since Figueroa had abducted his sons. Adrift in a strange situation, moving from place to place, the boys would have come to trust the man who kept coming back to them. He was, after all, their father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know your father loves you,” Ranger began, still crouched low to avoid intimidation. “And he wants to protect you. But do you think your mother would send bad people to come bring you home?" Ranger raised his hand slightly to bring attention to the picture in his hand.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamidi looked back at his brother, then back to Ranger. "Papa says it's not safe with mama. That's why he had to come save us."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smaller boy nodded at his older brother's words, looking forlorn.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger inhaled, knowing that he was rapidly losing his window of time before the arrival of the FBI agent he'd contacted. Feeling suddenly weary, Ranger put the picture on the ground between himself and the boys, like a peace offering. Like a surrendered moment of innocence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning back further on his heels now that both of his hands were freed, Ranger centered his resolve along with his balance. He forced himself to ask in a casual tone, "Do you know where your father is, Hamidi? We could make sure it's okay with him to go see your mother." </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"He's at work," Hamidi answered in a tone that implied that Ranger was perhaps a bit stupid that he even had to ask.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Do you know where that is, where he works?" Ranger pursued mildly, as though it was only a passing curiosity. He concentrated on his breath, staying in the moment, not thinking about the fact that he would be tracking the boys' father after Hamidi and Joao were safe in custody, probably landing the man in prison or worse. Mateus Figueroa, their father, was into something that made Ranger’s instincts snap to attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Ranger had the proper paperwork to keep tracking Mateus Figueroa. To keep investigating whatever the man was hiding. Then Ranger felt his eyes narrow. He had a legitimate reason to hunt down the SOB who had dropped Ranger back in the Allston bodega last week and framed him for a fake gang shooting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The smaller boy, Joao, spoke up, "Papa has to travel a lot. What he does is really important." His older brother Hamidi elbowed him with a harshly whispered "shut up." Joao glared briefly at his older brother as he protested, "Well, it's true. Papa said so. And he never said we couldn't tell people he goes on the road."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"That's okay Hamidi," Ranger reassured automatically, "I already know that your father travels a lot for his work." Ranger inhaled, then paused as he listened to the sound of car doors outside. The muffled, solid percussion without the tell-tale metal squeaks of older hinges indicated relatively new, heavy vehicles. A good chance it was the FBI. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Looking at the two boys, Ranger steeled himself to ask, "Do you have your father's cellphone number, so we could call him?"</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The boys looked at each other. "No," Hamidi answered as his brother squirmed slightly behind him. "We're not supposed to call him."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"We could interrupt him during something important at work," Joao added, looking proud of his father. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Feeling an ache for the innocence the boys were soon to lose, Ranger nodded and then stood. “It’s okay,” he reassured while reaching in one of the pockets in his cargo pants. Turning slightly to the side, Ranger said, “I know your father is trying to make sure you stay safe.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With more force than was needed, Ranger tore open the makeup remover wipe he’d pulled from his pocket. He sighed inwardly; despite what he’d told Hamidi and Joao, this entire cock-up—starting from when Figueroa kidnapped his sons from their mother in Puerto Rico—could almost have been designed specifically to put the two boys directly in harm’s way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> something a good father did. Ranger fought to keep from scowling and scaring the boys. Seeing Hamidi straighten from the corner of his eyes, Ranger suddenly pictured his own daughter Julie’s similar direct brown gaze and fierce spirit. Ranger pursed his lips, then shook out the makeup wipe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Focusing on the task at hand, Ranger began removing his faux facial hair and the russet eyebrow makeup No need to show unknown FBI agents his ability at disguise. At that thought, Ranger also removed and pocketed his medical gloves and his hat. Finishing up, Ranger made sure to re-close his gun-holster flap and to secure his other gun, which was attached to his utility belt along his rear hip.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What are you doing, mister?” the younger boy, Joao, leaned further from behind his brother to watch.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At almost the same time, Hamidi reached out with a thin arm to push his younger brother behind him. “You should leave now,” Hamidi asserted in his incongruously youthful voice as he lifted his determined gaze to Ranger’s eyes. “Go away, and we won’t tell papa you were here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger heard stealthy, measured footsteps approaching the door from both stairwells. “Okay Hamidi, I’ll be leaving in a moment,” Ranger said calmly as he pocketed the makeup wipe. Then he glanced at the boys with an authoritative expression that was rarely contradicted. “Right now though,” Ranger commanded, “I need you both to sit back down for your own safety.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He saw both boys’ eyes widen; then they backed up and sat down on the ragged sofa, Ranger straightened his coat to make sure he could reach a weapon if needed, while also making sure that his weaponry was out of plain view. Readying himself for either friend or foe, Ranger stepped backward to the side of the door and reached over to the doorknob.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger turned the knob and pulled the door slightly open. “Mañoso here, clear for handover,” Ranger said in a deep voice. It was a phrase he’d used innumerable times when transferring civilians to other soldiers, or to law enforcement. Ranger realized he hadn’t even needed to consider what to say.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Mañoso,” Ranger heard a deep female voice call out. “Confirm status.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All clear,” Ranger answered. “Confirm identity,” Ranger countered while glancing at Hamidi and Joao to make sure the slightly squirming boys stayed put. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Agent Solis and Agent Kramer, authorized for this engagement by Bureau Chief Garcia,” the same female voice replied from the hallway. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Acknowledged,” Ranger answered. “Targets are here, unchaperoned. I’m backing away from the door,” Ranger said, suiting action to words as he stepped sideways, turned toward the doorway, and held his hands open at his sides.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With precision, the apartment’s door opened and an agent wearing an FBI cap and coat filled the gap, gun held ready. The agent, a blond man whose bulk indicated he was wearing a bulletproof vest under his coat, moved forward as Ranger backed up. The man matched Ranger step-for-step, as a shorter agent stepped into the doorway, her gun held down and behind her. Yet still ready. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger backed further away and nodded toward the two boys huddled on the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Stay where you are sir,” the blond agent said, still tracking Ranger with his handgun. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative,” Ranger nodded, his arms still held palms up, at his sides.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The other agent, her alto voice now gentle, looked toward Hamidi and Joao on the sofa. “Hello boys. I’m Agent Solis from the FBI. You’re safe with me. I’ve been sent to make sure you’re okay,” she said in a calming voice. “Other than this gentleman,” she waved with her free hand toward Ranger, “are you boys alone, here?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamidi glanced at Ranger, then back at the woman from the FBI. “Yes ma’am,” he answered, his face shading from skepticism to confusion. “But our babysitter is coming back any minute,” the boy asserted with something like bravado. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger noted the slight change in how Hamidi had characterized the woman Ranger had watched leaving the apartment. Earlier she had been their aunt; now she was their babysitter. Djaleo’s wife was a person of convenience who could watch a couple of boys while their father was off doing whatever he did. It confirmed Ranger’s prior working assumption that Djaleo’s family—or at least his wife—had long-term no relationship with Figueroa’s family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hamidi stood, catching Ranger’s attention. “Anyhow, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I</span>
  </em>
  <span> take care of Joao,” the older boy said, pointing to himself, “so we don’t need you here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know,” Agent Solis answered with a smile. “You do a good job, too. I can tell.” Turned slightly to hide the action, Agent Solis holstered her gun. “But here’s the thing. I have the okay to take you boys to where you can get a nice warm meal. Do you like chicken nuggets and honey sauce?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the other, blond agent motioned Ranger out of the apartment and into the hall, Ranger heard Joao’s voice. “Yeah. And do you have any video games?” Followed almost immediately by Hamidi’s irritated, “Shut up.” Ranger felt his lips quirk upward in a momentary smile.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After Ranger stepped into the main hallway, the FBI agent closed the apartment door. Looking at Ranger with a hard expression, the blond man said, “We need to see your ID. And authorization paperwork. Garcia said you’d have it, when he called.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ranger replied, “though I’ll have to reach inside my coat to get it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A second, stocky agent in the hallway approached. “Sir, allow me,” the agent commanded with a hint of humor laced in his falsely gracious offer. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s in my left inside zipper pocket,” Ranger said, nodding. He remained still while the thickset man reached inside Ranger’s winter coat. Ranger felt the man surreptitiously pat-down his shoulder and chest. Ranger suppressed his amusement as he saw the agent visibly swallow as Ranger felt the man’s hand linger over his full weapons holster. One of his cousin Lester’s off-color jokes about big men and big guns ran through his mind. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Controlling his expression, Ranger simply commented, “My carry permit and gun licenses are in the same pocket with my apprehension paperwork.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lips compressed in a frown, the stocky man pulled out Ranger’s document wallet. He stood to the side, opened the slim leather folder, and looked through Ranger’s paperwork. He looked up at Ranger a couple of times while reading, and then finally closed the wallet. He checked his phone, and then looked up again. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s all in order, and Solis texted an all-clear from inside,” he commented to the blond agent, who finally lowered his gun. “Okay Mr. Mañoso,” the agent who’d gone through Ranger’s paperwork said in a more conversational tone. “Your paperwork confirms that you’re who you say you are. You’ve discharged your recovery responsibility relative to the two Figueroa boys. Agent Solis will sign-off on the operation when we get back to the office, giving you credit.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent pulled his lips in dislike. “And, if there’s a recovery bounty on this one, that should start the process.” As the agent spoke, the sound of youthful laughter muffled its way through the apartment door. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Ranger nodded as he lowered his hands, thinking it applied to what the agent had just told him as well as the hopeful sounds they’d just heard. Those boys had been through a lot, and had been in danger even if they hadn’t known it. Of course, Ranger wasn’t concerned with any bounty remaining, though he’d accept the funds if they came his way. Mostly he felt a deep sense of </span>
  <em>
    <span>rightness</span>
  </em>
  <span> of having delivered the boys into safety, at last. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Locking eyes with the stocky agent, Ranger commented, “I mentioned this to Bureau Chief Garcia when we spoke the other day, but I believe the boy’s father is very dangerous. He’s definitely armed, and he’s been on the move for the past few months, which is why it took me so long to find him. As far as I can tell, he traveled from Galveston Texas down to Puerto Rico to take his sons in the first place. It would probably be a good idea to set some security up for the boys’ mother, Safiyya Figueroa, down in San Juan.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Duly noted,” the heavyset man noted. “If we have any further questions, can we reach you at the cellphone from which you texted us?” At Ranger’s affirmative, the agent nodded back and said, “Okay, for now I’ll ask you to leave the premises. This is in FBI hands.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an audible sigh, the man added, “And though we don’t usually thank bounty hunters… well I guess the politically-correct term is </span>
  <em>
    <span>recovery agents</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” the man corrected himself with a slight eye roll. “Anyway, we don’t usually thank you guys for wading into our jurisdictions. Well, really we never do. But in this case, I’ll thank you on behalf of the two kids in there. Somehow their abduction had gotten lost in the bureaucracy.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The agent glowered, “I’d like to say that never happens, but obviously it did. We wouldn’t have found them if you had given up the chase.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger smiled. “If it helps, I won’t tell anyone you thanked me.” At the agent’s grudging bark of laughter, Ranger added, “Just do me a favor and make sure my help with this case gets noted in the records.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Normal operating procedure,” the man nodded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hearing sounds from within the apartment that indicated the agent inside was about to bring the boys out, Ranger knew it was his cue to leave. Let the boys see Agent Solis be the one to rescue them, without the confusion of Ranger still being there. Nodding his farewell to the two agents in the hallway, Ranger retraced his steps and left through the rear staircase.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he left the building and headed back into the darkening cold toward his truck, Ranger pulled up his coat’s hood. He charted an indirect route back to the old lot where his truck was parked; partly out of habit, partly to give himself time to think. The first part of his path gave him a view of the front of the building. Looking around as he walked, Ranger kept his eyes alert for Figueroa or any other people who seemed unnaturally attentive to the building he’d just left.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing nobody, Ranger took a moment to be pleased that he’d accomplished what he’d set out to do. He’d found and rescued two children in danger. Of course, he knew that his work wasn’t over. He knew there was something terribly </span>
  <em>
    <span>off</span>
  </em>
  <span> about the elder Figueroa’s actions, about how Krc had died in that apartment the other day, and how Ranger himself had been framed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>There was something truly wrong about how Ranger’s contact Tino Clark had disappeared. And after only a couple of days even Stephanie had seen the pattern of something suspiciously broader going on.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, Ranger had learned the hard way that he needed to reflect on small successes; minor things that had gone right. Or he’d never feel like he made a difference. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, Ranger let himself feel a brief moment of guarded hope like a small light in his heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, at the same time, he reflected that FBI documentation of his role in recovering the two boys could help lay groundwork to explain why he’d been in Figueroa’s cross-hairs. That was another reason why Ranger’s work was not done. Frankly, Ranger would need all the evidence he could line up on his side to overturn the frame job that had gotten him arrested last week. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d already recognized that, despite anything that Djaleo or his cousin Isaiah might have been able to provide as circumstantial evidence, the physical evidence still pointed directly to Ranger. Other than his active resolution of the boy’s abduction and other testimony to his character, Ranger’s defense was slim. He wouldn’t get much help from the local boys whose testimony might cast doubt on Ranger’s presence in the gang-shooting car shortly before shots were fired, even if he was grateful that the cops were still combing the neighborhood for evidence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t nearly strong enough, but Ranger disciplined himself to recognize it as a good start. Now that the boys were safe, Ranger still had a couple of weeks before his hearing to do what he did best, and Figueroa had provided him with ample motivation. He felt himself smile and knew it wasn’t a nice smile. Not at all. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Ranger realized that he also had Stephanie on his side. Doing what she did best. His smile lightened. He had a real chance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally at his truck, Ranger remembered his dilemma last night in Fall River: whether to return to Stephanie’s house or just disappear. Of course, if he didn’t manage to solve his frame-up, he probably would </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to disappear. There was no way he was going to prison. It would be easy to slip away and not be found. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Ranger realized he didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to disappear. Not from Stephanie’s life. Not now. Sitting and talking, on the phone, in her car… his memories of how she lifted his heart hadn’t been illusions after all. And, early this morning in her room, in her arms, he’d realized that even talking with her on the phone didn’t renew him the way being with her in person did.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>“Amor de lejos; amor de pendejos,” </span>
  </em>
  <span>Ranger thought with a wry grimace, the concise Cuban expression from his youth bubbling up from some wellspring of his subconscious. He shrugged. As so often happened, what was poetic and gently chiding in Spanish became blunt and clear when translated into English: Love from afar is for assholes. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yup</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger thought. Got it in one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger started his truck and pulled out of the old gas station lot, headed through the blight of an old and tired neighborhood. The dull penumbra of a late winter’s afternoon painted the neighborhood in shades of gray. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He drove past the building he’d just been in, noting that the shiny, muscular FBI vehicles he’d spotted moments earlier were already gone. The day’s snow had turned to slush; a man was yelling profanities at someone whose car was shoving a battered recliner out of the street in an attempt to park; and a woman wearing a hat with stuffed antlers was pushing a purloined shopping cart full of garbage bags and a huge bottle of Sprite. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger thought about how he would be viewing Boston right now if it weren't for Stephanie. He exhaled. His work meant that he was destined to see the worst of the places he went. He inevitably spent his time in neighborhoods that were down on their luck. By necessity he sought out the weakest, most sketchy, and least savory people. And yet.... </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And yet, at the moment Ranger felt like a ray of humor had muscled aside the clouds of his mood. He saw a city teeming with people who were full of life, absurd as it might sometimes be. It felt a bit like he was in Stephanie’s New Jersey. But it wasn’t Trenton; the city where he’d gone to make his future as a young man and partly succeeded. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, partly crashed-and-burned. Enough time had passed that he could admit that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, it was Stephanie’s Boston. Stephanie’s home. A place where she had made her own peace. A place she obviously enjoyed being. Where she started her day, and then ended it with family. Ranger understood that. Sometimes he longed for a home he could go back to, at the end of the night. Something that was more than another sterile backdrop for downtime. A place where </span>
  <em>
    <span>life</span>
  </em>
  <span> happened, where people </span>
  <em>
    <span>belonged</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unlike Ranger, his Babe was able to create such spaces in her life out of nothing but her nature. </span>
</p><p><span>Something that she’d done, yet again, here in Boston. She’d created a home; a space into which she’d clearly invited him.</span> <span>And which he was honest enough to admit that he’d been he’d been skirting around for the past several days. He’d told himself it was because he needed to focus on resolving his case and his legal situation. Or because he didn’t want to draw too much unwanted attention to time spent at Stephanie’s house. </span></p><p>
  <span>Or because he was a taciturn and armed man who didn’t fit into the predictable rhythms and soft furniture of middle class American life anymore. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>All of which were true. But Ranger now suspected that all his good reasons were also a diversionary tactic. Because his heart felt drawn to Stephanie’s home the way a magnet knew the way to the North Pole. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an odd emotion that Ranger couldn’t quite name, he realized he was curious how Mary Alice’s paper was coming along. In his mind’s eye, Ranger suddenly saw Sarah concentrating while he’d shown her the Heaven and Earth Aikido move. He recalled the sudden blush that bloomed unexpectedly, in broad patches across Lisa’s round face, so similar to her awkward father Albert. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger realized that he wanted to take a liberty call for the night, a moment of R&amp;R from the mission, and just </span>
  <em>
    <span>be</span>
  </em>
  <span> there. He had a craving to see what everyday life was like for Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dammit</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Ranger thought with annoyance, he wanted to just sit and talk with his Babe. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He wanted to hear the compassionate humor in her voice as he told her about Joao and Hamidi. He longed for the quick flashes of conjecture and mischief in her eyes as she told him about her day. He imagined being surrounded by the combination of perfume, musk, and sweat that was Stephanie's characteristic scent. He wanted to feel the warmth that infused him in her presence—from bone to heart to the surging carnal flush of skin—like a jolt of narcotics direct to his bloodstream. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In that moment, Ranger knew that he’d already made up his mind on how he wanted to end his day. He’d just needed enough time to kick his own conscious ass into agreement. He still, though, had a few things to do before his evening could begin. But tonight he vowed he’d at least make the attempt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Call Alex Garcia,” Ranger instructed his truck’s console. While he listened for Alex to pick up, Ranger turned onto a street that headed back in the general direction of Stephanie’s house. At the turning motion of his arms, he suddenly felt Sarah's saint’s coin warm against his chest. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled quietly to himself. Stephanie truly was part of a long line of scary women. Then he smiled knowingly. Perhaps Stephanie and her girls would like a nice </span>
  <em>
    <span>tres leches</span>
  </em>
  <span> cake from </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Oriental de Cuba. </span>
  </em>
  <span>He had the feeling his man, Ricardo the restaurant’s owner, could hook him up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And tonight, Ranger squinted, perhaps her neighbor Darius wouldn’t be there. </span>
</p><p>
  <br/>
  <br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0025"><h2>25. Setting the Table</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 25: Setting the Table</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie handed Mary Alice the final pan to dry and then released the plug from the sink. Sudsy water swirled down the drain with a wet </span>
  <em>
    <span>slurk</span>
  </em>
  <span> that obscured the hockey game sounds from the living room TV. Muffled giggles from the same direction told her that Lisa and Sarah were still in the room, waiting for her and Mary Alice to rejoin them. Time together after homework, after dinner, and before bed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mary Alice tossed the dish towel over her shoulder with a flourish, humming the melody to tonight’s song. Mary Alice had informed her, in a suspiciously bright tone over dinner, that it was something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>Under Your Skin</span>
  </em>
  <span>. The melody was familiar but Stephanie couldn’t quite place it. Amused, Stephanie made a mental note to look up the lyrics to the song later, to find out why her extroverted daughter was only humming this one. Who knew that, in her thirties, she’d finally have to learn Frank Sinatra hits to keep track of her daughter? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, she mused, at least it </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> Sinatra again so this time it wasn’t Mary Alice flying under maternal ire by humming </span>
  <em>
    <span>Wild Thing </span>
  </em>
  <span>or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Bootylicious</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Another typical evening with the Plum family, Stephanie thought with a wry smile as she leaned down to put soap in the dishwasher. It had taken a while, but she’d grown used to evenings like this. She’d even taken them for granted until Angie had left for college and reminded her that time never stopped moving forward. That, one by one, her girls would grow up and move out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made Stephanie pause, sometimes, remembering back to similar evenings in her parents’ home. Back then, she’d been absorbed in her own feelings and needs. The comfort of familiar meals, her parents’ fussing, the drone of ’Burg gossip… like a life spent in safe but suspended animation. A waiting game. A convenient retreat that reminded Stephanie of where she was from, and where she didn’t quite fit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, until the last couple of years, she’d never wondered about what her parents had been feeling. Helen and Frank Plum had raised two daughters to model the ’Burg storybook, only to watch as the fairytale plot had imploded with the reality of unhappy marriage and crappy jobs. Their safe, by-the-numbers world had changed around them while they lived in their ’Burg-standard house, with neighbors and relatives they’d known their whole lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, as adults, the Plum daughters had rejected their parents’ example, while yet returning regularly to the convenience of the Plum family home. To the familiarity of their banged-up adolescent furniture and boy-band posters. To their mother’s stubborn habit of filling the voids of her husband’s testy silences. To the amusing randomness of Grandma Mazur, which could distract anyone from their own day-to-day issues. To a house that had only one bathroom, and yet could be a haven.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To Stephanie, it had been a place to retreat, take a breath, and feel somehow smugly </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now as a mother herself, Stephanie couldn’t help but consider what her own mother had felt, first while watching her daughters grow up and leave home. Then with them returning in need, only to push away again, ignoring all advice. It certainly made Stephanie think twice about what had been going on behind her own mother’s obsessive cooking, ironing, and tippling in the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie took a deep breath. It was not how she wanted to be, as her daughters left home. But Stephanie couldn’t dismiss her mother’s example anymore, either. Sometimes Stephanie ached, wishing she could have just one more day to ask her mother how she’d felt, how she’d coped. And to let her mother know that she didn’t have to worry about Stephanie anymore. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even while she still felt annoyance well up when she thought about their relationship. It was something to think about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie was brought back to the present by Mary Alice, who reached in front of Stephanie to grab a pan lid from the counter. Twirling with the pan and its lid, humming and scatting energetically, Mary Alice headed indirectly toward the cabinet to put the pan away. Stephanie was reminded of an advertisement from her childhood that featured a row of housewives dancing with their cleaning products, and laughed. She saw a matching grin on Mary Alice’s face.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, she felt it. Suddenly, somehow she knew: Ranger was near. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he’d said he’d try to come home for dinner tonight, but he’d also said that the previous few days. So Stephanie hadn’t pinned her hopes on his intent. Now, though, she felt her spirits lift at the thought. Turning to the refrigerator, she pulled back out the food she’d just put away, garnering a puzzled look from Mary Alice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then they’d both heard the ratcheting clunk of the front door in the echoing entryway downstairs. “Whoa,” Mary Alice had exclaimed with a grin. “I knew it,” she exclaimed, slipping past Stephanie. “Nobody wants to miss goulash night!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted: probably no other household in America would hear that particular phrase tonight. Or any other night for that matter.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She was still in the dining room when Ranger opened the door into the apartment. In that first unguarded moment, she saw some of the Ranger she remembered from Trenton in his posture. Even with exhaustion still on Ranger’s face, it was the way he telegraphed confidence. It gave an expectation of success to his panther-smooth movements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Momentarily forgetting to move, Stephanie stood in the doorway between rooms. While Ranger removed his obviously damp winter coat and hung it next to Stephanie’s parka her girls leapt up and went to greet Ranger in the doorway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was what Darius had dubbed “the Plum swarm.” Stephanie had gotten used to the way her girls would sometimes cluster around friends and family. It was something Angie and Mary Alice had done, even before they were a family together. But clearly, from the momentary off-balance look on Ranger’s face while he was still stepping out of his CAT boots, it wasn’t the type of greeting to which Ranger was accustomed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The hesitation was brief, probably less than a second. And then Mary Alice filled in the moment, calling out a welcome and adding a joke about how the slush and snow would be gone by tomorrow. With a wry look, Ranger replied with a comment on the sorry state of their shovel. Then Ranger stood back up from removing his second boot, absently tousled Sarah’s hair, and then lightly brushed Lisa’s shoulder. It made Stephanie remember that Ranger did have family— parents, siblings, a daughter, nieces and nephews—even if he had seemed estranged from them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite that reminder or perhaps because of it, Stephanie felt a hiccup in her heart—a moment of lost breath in a chest that was suddenly too full—at the comfortable domesticity of the scene. Deepset satisfaction at the fullness of the moment tangled in her soul with an unexpected anxiety as she realized that her daughters had already accepted Ranger as part of their lives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes scanned to the dining room and caught Stephanie’s flushed gaze. And then all she could see was Ranger and the smile that banished the tired expression from his dark eyes. She smiled back, feeling like a sixteen-year-old whose date had entered the room.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi Ranger,” she said, recovering her manners. “Welcome home to a completely authentic Plum family greeting.” She stepped forward into the living room, as though drawn by Ranger’s magnetic current. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled. “Thanks Steph,” he answered. “It’s good to be able to take a break from the action tonight.” His eyebrow raising in what Stephanie recognized as a teasing expression, Ranger said, “Since I’m late for dinner, I figured I’d bring dessert.” He lifted a plastic bag from the table in the entryway. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At which point, all Plum family decorum was lost as the girls pulled Ranger to the dining room. Mary Alice and Lisa went to the kitchen and brought back trays with plates, glasses of milk, napkins. And, of course, a full array of cake cutting and serving implements. The Plums were not amateurs when it came to dessert.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sarah stood next to Stephanie, her eyes curious as she watched her mother open the cake box. “Ranger, this looks yummy,” Stephanie sighed, glancing over to the sideboard where Ranger leaned, arms lightly folded, watching the action with smug amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>tres leches </span>
  </em>
  <span>cake,” he explained. “I’m not sure if you’ve had it before. But I had a small taste before I bought it, and this is pretty close to what my abuela used to cook for us on holidays.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, thank you Ranger,” Stephanie said, trying to not drool too obviously as she looked at the cake. Then she remembered this was Ranger. The man who ate twigs and berries and was more likely to shoot a cake than eat it. “But wait,” she exclaimed. “You had cake?” Unconsciously Stephanie added, “Did you have dinner first?” and then she blushed, realizing that her inner </span>
  <em>
    <span>mom</span>
  </em>
  <span> voice had escaped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “I just wrapped up today’s work a little while ago. But if you have any leftovers, I’d be grateful.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh we definitely have leftovers,” Mary Alice answered. “And that’s my cue,” she continued. Then, winking at Stephanie, the tall girl slipped into the kitchen, starting to hum again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s eyes darted from Mary Alice to Ranger, and then to the cake box on the table. Seeing Sarah’s watchful eyes as Lisa sidled closer to the location of the cake box, Stephanie squared her shoulders. She darted out one hand to stop Lisa’s progress and then glanced back to Ranger. “We can wait until you’ve eaten, and then all have desert together.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a hand gesture, both gracious yet controlled, Ranger added, “Go ahead and start. I brought it for all of you.” Probably sensing Stephanie’s hesitation—her internal struggle between motherhood and sugar hormones—Ranger’s eyebrow twitched upward as he added, “Just save me a piece.” His lips compressed in a brief self-satisfied smile.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie decided that this was all the permission she needed, so she picked up the cake knife and began slicing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Within a moment, Mary Alice returned to the dining room. “Salad’s all set,” Mary Alice announced as she reached down to help Sarah with her plate. “The noodles are warmed up and the goulash stew is still microwaving.” Mary Alice resumed her nonsense-syllable singing as she took the next filled plate from Stephanie, added a fork, and handed it to Lisa.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doe dee-doe, doe-dee doe doe,” Mary Alice swayed as she grabbed a plate from the table. Smiling as she continued to scat, she took the cake knife from Stephanie and began cutting her own piece of cake. Stephanie observed knowingly, but also with a flare of probably misplaced maternal pride, that Mary Alice’s piece was notably larger than the pieces that she, herself, had cut for Lisa and Sarah. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Doe dee doe doe doe,” Mary Alice melodically continued, undaunted by her mother’s glare and Ranger’s speculative amusement. “Use your mentality. Step up, wake up to reality…” she swayed in place, and then landed her piece of cake on its plate with a flourish. “Doe doe dee dah dah.” She smiled with triumph and handed the cake knife back to Stephanie and continued humming.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sinatra again?” Ranger squinted as he appeared to follow the melody. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shrugged, and then answered, “Mary Alice says it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Under Your Skin</span>
  </em>
  <span> from her Sinatra collection. ” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve Got You Under My Skin</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mary Alice corrected with a theatrical huff as she put her plate on the tray with milk and napkins.” Straightening, she smiled. “It’s a classic from the 1963 Reprise album of Sinatra pre-recorded hits. Always listen to that version,” Mary Alice instructed with an emphatic nod, “not to weird duet version he did with Bono from U2.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie thought she heard Ranger actually snort as Mary Alice continued. “The original Reprise version was huge on the charts; almost as big as the song </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Way</span>
  </em>
  <span> a few years later, which nobody had the guts to tell Sinatra is really corny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, herself, and decided to not remind her daughter of the two days last week that she’d sung </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Way</span>
  </em>
  <span> almost non-stop, regardless of how corny she now found the song. Two days was approximately two days too many for that particular song, in Stephanie’s opinion. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger cocked his eyebrow. “Steph, you might want to check that her high school isn't trapped in a 1960s time warp.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Believe it or not, Ranger, Sinatra’s apparently popular again. Tony Bennett still tours and some kids whose last name isn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>Plum</span>
  </em>
  <span> actually listen to his music.” She flicked her eyes to Mary Alice. “And I know this because I got to chaperone a bunch of Mary Alice's friends to Tanglewood out in Western Massachusetts last year to hear Tony Bennett in concert. I think they were as excited to be there as my dad would’ve been.” </span>
  <span></span>
    <br/>
  
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
  <span>“It was awesome,” Mary Alice enthused, tray in hand and half way to the living room. “It was like </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Jonas Brothers</span>
  </em>
  <span> for people with gray hair.” She smiled archly. “And taste,” she added as she herded her sisters in front of her, through the doorway. “Doe doe… doe-dee dah dah,” Mary Alice started up again. Under Mary Alice’s shoulder, Lisa turned back to Stephanie, rolling her expressive brown eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Lisa,” Stephanie reassured her skittish younger daughter. “As soon as Mary Alice starts following the Bruins game, you’ll be safe from Sinatra for a while.” As Lisa’s round face relaxed in obvious relief, Stephanie fought to keep from laughing. “We’ll be out there in a bit. We just need to get Ranger some dinner.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Just then, Stephanie heard the ding of the microwave. At the same time, she heard her unlisted cell phone start ringing in the kitchen, where she’d left it to recharge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger I have to get that. It’s my unlisted work phone.” She turned, hurrying to answer the phone before it went to voicemail. Bobbling the phone momentarily, Stephanie picked it up and rushed to answer. “Hello, this is Stephanie Plum,” she answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do I want to know why you’re out of breath at eight thirty in the evening?” Joe’s voice asked dryly over the line. “Never mind; forget I asked.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Joe,” Stephanie answered, feeling flustered without a real reason. “I keep forgetting that you know this number.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, I figure that it’s best to call on your top-secret unlisted phone, for now. And I’m calling from a burner I bought in a Store-24 on Route 1,” Joe explained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie registered Ranger’s shadow in the kitchen doorway as Joe continued. “So Steph, I have a couple of updates for you, and wanted to let you know before I go offline for a couple days. This weekend is Hal’s grand opening of his Maine ski condo for the season. Of course, there’s no actual snow up here, yet.” Stephanie heard Joe snort as he added, “I looked online, and I think New Jersey and Boston have more snow than Maine right now.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie waved Ranger into the kitchen as she exhaled in amusement. “Joe, wasn’t Hal’s ski house opening last year during the weekend when Maine had a record November heat wave, and you sent me that video of the bear trying to figure out the revolving doors at the condo complex’s common area?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe chuckled, “Yeah, you remember that right. It was also the one where the horny moose fell in love with Hal’s GMC Yukon.” Stephanie started to laugh in earnest as Joe continued. “The truck still has dents and hoof marks. Gino and I are laying bets on whether the moose has been waiting all summer for the return of his sexy Hal-mobile. At least Hal had it painted so it’s not moose-soulmate brown anymore.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sensing Ranger’s still posture as he lingered halfway into the room, having closed the kitchen door, Stephanie tried to control her laughter. “Hey Joe, I have Ranger here with me. Okay to put you on speakerphone so you can share what you found with both of us, at once?” While she waited for Joe to answer, she put her hand over the phone and asked, “Ranger, do you want to eat while we talk, or after?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll wait,” he answered, his posture attentive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Stephanie sat down and then pushed out the chair next to her with her foot. After a brief pause, Ranger sat with controlled, muscular grace, keeping his eyes on Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As soon as Joe said it was okay to be on speakerphone, Stephanie hit the speaker button and put down her phone. She turned to Ranger to include him in the conversation when she suddenly remembered what Joe had said. “Oh wait Joe. Ohmigod, is Hal actually in the room with you? Don’t put us on speakerphone there. Don’t even tell him it’s me on the phone. Holy cow, don’t tell him it’s Ranger! Or, speak in code or something.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, is this Hal McGuinnest from Rangeman? Big guy, blond?” Stephanie saw the line between Ranger’s eyebrows that she’d learned long ago to read as profound puzzlement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger, Hal’s a Trenton detective these days, and works with Joe.” As she saw Ranger’s left eyebrow drift upward in question, Stephanie idly wondered how he could do that while still maintaining the perplexed wrinkle between his brows. She almost could imagine Ranger as a boy, practicing minimalist facial expressions in the mirror, similar to how she had caught Angie practicing flirty-then-smug expressions on more than a few occasions in the upstairs hallway mirror. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Smiling ruefully at that memory, Stephanie filled in the silence. “I try to help out Joe by steering clear of Hal.” Ranger’s lips pursed and Stephanie recognized the look. Ranger had spotted a mystery and would continue waiting until he understood the answer. Sighing, Stephanie confessed, “Hal is still pissed at me for dropping him with his own stun-gun in your garage.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe’s laughter filled the room from over the phone. “Yeah, but it was actually a good bonding experience. He was in a total funk about that one night at Pino’s, so I told him that was nothing. After Hal found out how Steph tricked and locked me in a refrigerated truck for the bounty, I was like his new best friend. Ever since then, I get invited to ski weekends and the annual fishing trip. That one drives Amanda nuts because she hates having a freezer full of striped bass.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked from the phone on the counter, then back at Stephanie. “Okay Babe, but why shouldn’t Hal know that Joe talks to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie sighed, imagining Joe’s knowingly amused expression on the other end of the phone. “Joe, you’re not going to help me here, are you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, you got this one,” his dry voice answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine,” Stephanie glared briefly at the phone, and then calmed her expression as she turned back to Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger, I guess Hal was kinda unhappy when he left Rangeman.” She imagined Joe rolling his eyes, so she continued. “Well, yeah, I guess that’s a bit of an understatement.” As Ranger tilted his head slightly, she continued, “Hal told me once that he felt like you and Tank never really trusted him after I tasered him. That you decided he was kinda stupid because he fell so quickly for the simplest trick when it was played on him by a woman.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Babe, that's kind of what happened."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked down at the kitchen table, watching her finger trace a line along one of the placemats. “Yeah, but Hal was stuck on monitors and backup bodyguard duty, like forever. New guys got brought in after him and got more action in the field, and more responsibilities. At least, that's how Hal felt.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked back up at Ranger, an apology in her eyes. “That’s part of why Hal eventually left Rangeman, even before the company was sold. I always feel bad about that, because I never meant to sabotage Hal’s career.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Or anyone else’s for that matter</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, remembering some other impulsive, less fortunate moments from her bounty hunting days. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Steph,” Joe interjected from the phone on the table. “Hal tells me all the time that he’s happier at the TPD, where we're pleased to shamelessly leverage his military investigative background and Criminal Justice degree. He’s around a bunch of cops where he gets to be special. It’s a better fit for him, all around.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe chuckled. “And it’s how he met Jenny from the Criminal Investigations office.” Joe paused, and then added, “Hal would probably let you stun-gun him all over again if he’d known that leaving Rangeman and coming to </span>
  <em>
    <span>CSI Trenton</span>
  </em>
  <span> was how he’d meet Jenny.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>CSI Trenton</span>
  </em>
  <span>?” Stephanie echoed with amusement. But then she reflected that, after all, Joe </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> movie-star handsome and Hal probably would be a really good sidekick. She started to visualize the opening credits of such a show, seeing something showy and glamorous like Hawaii Five-O but with Trenton skylines. Then she heard an exhaled snort from Ranger’s direction. Nibbling her lip, Stephanie felt herself blush as she presumed some of her musing had been out-loud. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie decided to ignore her momentary embarrassment and sent a silent thanks to Joe. He always seemed to know when Stephanie needed her spirits lifted in reminder that good sometimes followed from moments that now made her cringe. And, in this moment, perhaps he’d also understood that Ranger might have been troubled by discussion of situations at Rangeman that hadn’t gone as he’d thought.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. Well sometimes it’s less </span>
  <em>
    <span>CSI Trenton</span>
  </em>
  <span> and more like the special Trenton version of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Reno 911</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Joe admitted. “Anyhow, right now Hal is downstairs at the gym doing that Cro Magnon exercise routine thing of his. That’s time you’re guaranteed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> find me anywhere near the man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe audibly exhaled into the phone. “You know me: I’m fine with weights, pull-up bars, rowing machines, or the Stairmaster... the usual. But, I don’t need to do Hal’s intense interval training, or rock climbing, or whatever the hell else he does to make him look like the Incredible Hulk.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noticing Ranger subtly flex in her periphery, Stephanie snorted as she asked, “But Joe, what if you run into a saber-toothed tiger? Or a Cro Magnon who’s really pissed off? Or even Romeo the Yukon-loving moose?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s easy Steph,” Joe replied with a low chuckle. “I’ll just call Hal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s snicker bubbled into another laugh, and she could even see amusement flicker like embers in Ranger’s eyes. Stephanie reached out to put her hand over Ranger’s wrist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow Steph, before Cro Magnon Hal comes back, and Gino and Eddie get here with the poker chips, I wanted to let you know that I looked up that Boston skip for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fennelly?” Stephanie asked as Ranger inclined forward.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s the one,” Joe affirmed. “Steph, you might want to check with your boss Ryan on him. Let him know that Interpol records hint that Fennelly might be related to a fellow named Aidan Dwyer who supposedly used to shuttle between Ulster and Boston. And it looks like Dwyer used to be on the Bureau of Firearm’s watch list, back in the day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, a weapons connection,” Ranger commented as he looked at Stephanie with one eyebrow raised.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Joe replied. “I guess they never caught Dwyer, but apparently everyone thought that he ran guns and explosives for the ‘Provos’ back in Ireland. He didn’t seem to be part of the Charlestown Mob, Winter Hill or any of those U.S. Irish organized crime groups. Anyhow, he probably fell through the cracks during the ’70s and ’80s when the Feds were off scratching their asses trying to figure out why half of their mob surveillance wasn’t working in New England.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Great image Joe,” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “But thanks. I’ll talk to Ryan tomorrow and ask him if that connection rings a bell, without telling him how I found it out.” Seeing a slight shift in Ranger’s posture, she turned toward him. “Ranger, I think that makes sense. Fennelly is a Boston skip, so it would make sense that I might get news of him. And, if the BPD pulls him back in we can question him about new evidence.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noting Ranger’s unchanged expression, Stephanie continued. “Really, it all follows. I already passed on your ‘anonymous’ tip that Fennelly was at Geary’s pub after-hours a couple nights ago. And if the BPD surveillance spotted that guy Krc there, like you did… well, I know that now the BPD is looking into Krc’s death. If Fennelly reveals anything about them framing you for that gang shooting, it’ll go on record.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a risk Steph,” Ranger finally spoke. “I’m fairly sure that whoever killed Krc wanted to tie me to it.” Ranger’s lips tightened, and Stephanie wondered what he wasn't telling her. She could almost see thoughts sifting quickly through Ranger’s mind. Finally he gave a brief nod. “But it’s a decent gamble, Steph. Worth a try.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Joe commented after a moment. “I’ll text the Interpol record number after we hang up, in case it’s useful.” Over Ranger’s grunted thanks, Joe continued. “So Ranger, this may make sense to you. I found two of the names that Steph sent me from your list on both U.S. and Eurozone Do Not Fly lists. But the U.S. list has override numbers that let them fly domestically. And the Eurozone list has a notation in a comment field that sends inquiries to something or someone called Sertorius.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie inhaled and squeezed Ranger's arm as Joe continued, "I swear I've heard that name before,” Joe said, “but can't place it. And I didn't want to pursue it, because looking for a specific name like that in security records would probably ring alarms somewhere I don't want to know about."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Barely waiting for Joe to finish, Stephanie rushed out, “Joe, I found that same name in some searches I ran in offline records. It looked like a holding company, but for random businesses in different cities that all hire guys from the same ESL school in Minnesota, of all places. And Ranger says the name Sertorius is familiar, too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It feels like Black Ops,” Ranger said quietly. “You create a front company that looks legit that you can use behind-the-scenes to set up operations, write the checks, and so forth.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Checks!” Stephanie called out with a mimed head-slap. “My friend ’Fredo’s cousin Mateo, the one with the check-cashing store in Dorchester, said he’d gotten a weird check from those two guys who’d stopped into his store.” Seeing Ranger’s squint, Stephanie added, “Remember, they were looking for someone who ’Fredo realized probably was you? Then, after I forwarded the pictures you texted me, ’Fredo’s cousin Mateo identified them as Krc and Figueroa.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Babe, I remember. What did Mateo think was weird about the check?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie rose while Ranger spoke, reaching again for her purse on the counter. “He said its number looked like one from a government check, but it wasn’t a number he’d seen before. And, it was a personal check.” Rustling through her purse, she added, “Mateo said it was something only someone who cashed a lot of checks would notice. ’Fredo sent me a picture of the check on my regular phone… hang on.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling out her cellphone, Stephanie tapped a couple of times and then showed the check’s picture to Ranger. He flipped between the front and back check images. Then he handed the phone back to Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I don’t see anything obvious,” Ranger commented, “I’m fairly sure the company name that it’s issued from—Smith Incorporated—is bogus, but send those images to me. They might trigger something down the road.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure,” Stephanie said as she started tapping on the phone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Steph,” Joe interjected from the other phone sitting on the kitchen table. “Send them to me also. I might be able to get more info.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure Joe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Morelli,” Ranger intoned, speaking over Stephanie. “Remember I said this looked like Black Ops. You should back away.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger, I heard you,” Joe answered, “Loud and clear.” Joe took an audible breath, and Stephanie could imagine the forced patience that no-doubt glowered from Joe’s facial expression at the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Joe continued. “I can do this behind the scenes. I have a contact at the Federal Reserve who knows how the Bankers’ Association, or whatever the hell they call themselves, assign routing transit numbers to banks. That’s the number Steph’s friend would’ve noticed on the check he mentioned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lips tightened in what Stephanie knew was a scowl. “Morelli, how do you know you can trust this person?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah that’s not a problem,” Joe answered ruefully. “She’s from the ’Burg, I’ve known her my whole life.” In the pause, Stephanie thought she heard Joe mumble, “Whether I wanted to or not.” Then Joe added with a low chuckle, “Steph knows her too. ” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s focus switched to Stephanie, who shrugged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joe,” she said, putting her hands on her hips and looking at the phone as though Joe himself was sitting on her kitchen table, doling out information one spoonful at a time. “I give up: who is it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Humor lacing his voice, Joe answered, “Steph, remember Minky Muffmeister? She was in my grade. I think Val knew her too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ohmigod Joe, I haven’t thought of Minky for years,” Stephanie replied. Turning in time to catch Ranger’s eyes blinking uncharacteristically, Stephanie explained, “Minky was one of Joe’s original groupies.” Stephanie continued talking over the choking sound that emanated from the phone. “Val told me that, in fourth grade, Minky did a whole art project dedicated to Joe, with a diorama and everything.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, she grew out of that phase,” Joe protested.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Joe,” Stephanie shook her head. “Her family moved to Virginia in high school. She had to eventually find someone else to diorama, and to get silk screened on T-shirts at the mall.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so Minky was a little creepy for a while,” Joe admitted. “But really, Steph, she grew out of it. She’s normal now.” As though he could sense Ranger’s look of amused doubt, Joe added, “Well, as normal as someone from the ’Burg can be, present company excluded.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To herself, Stephanie mumbled, “Well yeah, who can blame her? And, let’s face it: it was probably all compensation for having a name like Minky Muffmeister.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe’s low chuckle arose from the phone’s speaker. “Yeah, but hey, she married and changed her last name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Good call</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought to herself, until Joe explained, “She’s Minky Dickgraber now, which sadly is a better name.” Stephanie snorted, nodding in rueful agreement with Joe.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger cleared his throat in an almost subtle way and Steph reached over to squeeze his hand. "The short answer, Ranger, is that I remember Minky and agree that she can be trusted. Despite being weird—which honestly doesn’t make her stand out from most people from the ’Burg—she also was really loyal and was one of the few people in school who didn’t gossip. Of course, that counted against her in the ’Burg, but it was kinda nice.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger grudgingly nodded while Joe’s voice continued the discussion. “You know, as I think about it, I might not even have to show Minky the check. I can start by asking about government and agency check numbers in general, and see what I can find out that way. And worst case: she might be able to look up the bank code for the check as part of her job without suspicion. I’ve consulted with her before on mob- and gang-related checks and money movement. She knows how to get it done.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good enough,” Ranger concluded after a pause. “By the way, Morelli, in case you didn’t catch it, Mirko Krc was tagged by BPD Homicide yesterday. Found shot to death in a crappy apartment house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah yes,” Joe intoned. “Mirko Krc, alias Mark Carrack and Micky the K. The nasty looking guy that kept eluding the New Jersey Auto-Theft Task Force. I’d noted this afternoon that the file for that asshole was getting routed back to me informationally; guess now I know why.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s clearly part of the suspicious activity I’ve been tracking over the past couple of months. If you get any questions, I recommend playing...” Ranger paused, “possum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Joe barked out a laugh. “Good save, Mañoso. I know that phrase started out as </span>
  <em>
    <span>playing stupid</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked sideways at Ranger, whose amusement was telegraphed by tipped lips and a shrewd expression around his eyes. Catching Stephanie’s glance, Ranger’s brow lifted in humor as he shrugged in nonchalance, like a teenager caught being a bit too clever.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Remembering some of the biting back-and-forth between the two men in prior years, Stephanie stepped in. “Okay thanks Joe. Is there anything else we need to know before Cro Magnon Hal comes back?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Joe answered, “there is one more thing. But it’s something I need to discuss just with Ranger.” Stephanie heard Joe puff out a breath the way he did when he was trying to find the right words to say something. In years past, it had often preceded Joe announcing that Stephanie was doing something that Joe thought was a really stupid idea, while he tried to avoid using that exact phrase. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt herself tense up, out of habit, and then realized Joe had said he needed to say something to Ranger, not to her. So she exhaled and sat back in her chair, just as Joe began to speak. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Steph,” he said, “the </span>
  <em>
    <span>discussing with Ranger </span>
  </em>
  <span>thing is clever ‘guy’ code for </span>
  <em>
    <span>take the phone off speaker and let me talk to Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> while you go do something in another room so you’re not standing there listening-in the way you usually do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s eyes narrowed. “What, is this like a secret boy’s club thing?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Steph, we’re going to build a treehouse and put up a big plywood sign that says ‘no girl cooties’ on it.” Joe’s voice replied with asperity. “Just let me talk to Ranger, okay? It won’t take long.” Stephanie looked at Ranger; his focused expression and brief nod told her that he was interested to hear what Joe had to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah all right,” Stephanie conceded with a nod back at Ranger. “Talk to you later, Joe, thanks for calling. Have fun dodging the moose.” As she listened to Joe’s amused reply, Stephanie released Ranger’s hand, pushed back her chair, and stood. Then, nibbling her lip, Stephanie looked at the microwave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As usual, Ranger picked up her thoughts. “Steph, after I talk to Morelli, I’ll grab dinner from the microwave and join you in the dining room. We can talk more while I eat.” With an uptick to his lips that Stephanie recognized as one of Ranger’s teasing expressions, he added, “Until then, you’re delegated to guard my piece of cake for me.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A sacred duty,” she chuckled and unconsciously reached out to brush an unruly lock of his hair back from his forehead. Ranger’s briefly unguarded face, looking up at her in that moment, gave her a quick glimpse of how people must have seen Ranger as a teenager. A proud, almost shy gaze topped with slightly too-long, thick straight hair. Intelligent, dark eyes examining the world around him; caution and experience leavened with watchful hope.      </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His head canted slightly into her touch, and then he straightened and picked up the phone from the table. “Go,” he said quietly. “I’ll follow in a moment.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger then nodded and turned his attention to the phone, tapping it to take it out of speaker mode. “Okay Morelli,” Ranger said in a business-like voice as Stephanie turned toward the dining room. “What’s up?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The kitchen door clicked as she closed it behind her. Stephanie walked to the dining room table, pensive as she sat down. She knew Joe, and she trusted him. But she was confused by his request to talk with Ranger at the end. That was a personal request, not a business one. She knew the difference in Joe’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It made her wonder about what relationship Joe might have to Ranger that she didn’t know about. She'd never been able to figure that out, even back in Trenton. After all, even before Connie had introduced her to the man in black, Ranger had clearly known the type of man who Joe was.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0026"><h2>26. Taking a Breath</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 26: Taking a Breath </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b>
    <br/>
  </b>
  <span>“Oh, Ranger!” Stephanie moaned, “Oh my God.” Inhaling rapturously as she opened her eyes, Stephanie saw Ranger’s warm, satisfied brown gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My pleasure Babe,” Ranger replied, not quite able to hide the smug expression that lurked behind the tilt of his full lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmmm!” Stephanie tried, unsuccessfully, to stop herself mid-moan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom!” Mary Alice objected jarringly from the doorway. At Stephanie’s glare, her daughter took a step forward. “What?” Mary Alice challenged, rolling her eyes. “Come on, Mom. Seriously. Since Angie isn’t here, I feel honor bound to whine on her behalf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chuckling, Mary Alice added, “Besides, it </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> distracting. We’re trying to watch the hockey game on TV, out here. Bruins </span>
  <em>
    <span>versus</span>
  </em>
  <span> Canadiens, still scoreless after the first period; it’s an instant classic.” Mary Alice narrowed her eyes in mock irritation. “Well, it might be if </span>
  <em>
    <span>some people </span>
  </em>
  <span>weren’t distracting the fans by having a personal moment with their desserts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah okay,” Stephanie conceded. “But, in my defense, who knew that a dessert that doesn’t have any chocolate whatsoever could be so </span>
  <em>
    <span>org…</span>
  </em>
  <span> um so....” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Organic?” Ranger drawled, echoing Stephanie’s flustered “org” at the start of the word with light emphasis as his eyebrow lifted in amusement. He slowly lifted his dinner spoon to his lips and took a slow sip, keeping his amused gaze focused intently on Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Crap</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. Ranger had known she was struggling to find a family-friendly word that meant “orgasmic.” Maybe it was time to revisit her theory that Ranger wasn’t really psychic. Then again, Ranger was the one who’d brought dessert home, with the hint that it was one of his own favorite desserts, so perhaps he had the same word struggle himself. A flush lit through her core at the thought of some specific things that she </span>
  <em>
    <span>knew</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Ranger considered orgasmic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard what sounded like a muffled snort from Mary Alice’s direction, covered by a hasty cough, as the leggy teen scooted behind Stephanie’s chair in the dining room, slipping her way toward the kitchen, empty glass in hand. “Mom, good thing the rest of us already had our slices of that totally yummy cake. Because otherwise we’d be in here fighting over the crumbs left in that box.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice stopped, a mischievous expression lighting her expressive face. “Or,” she pretended to ponder, “we might have needed to beg Ranger with really big eyes, so he’d share his slice with us.” Mary Alice looked down, squinting. “Though I have to say, that Ranger’s slice would barely satisfy Sarah.” Mary Alice put her free hand on her hip, knowingly. “Mom, just how big a piece did </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> have?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Ranger’s quiet huff of amusement as she looked at her plate, almost surprised that there was only one bite of cake left. “Well,” Stephanie hesitated. “I might’ve had more than one slice.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Three, Steph.” Ranger’s eyes sparked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hah!” Mary Alice laughed. “Only three slices?” she asked, darting forward to snatch the remaining piece of cake from Stephanie’s plate. “Mom, you’re slipping.” Mary Alice backed up and grinned at Ranger. “You should see her with birthday cake. It’s not a pretty sight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” Stephanie exclaimed, reaching over to lightly tap Mary Alice with the flat bottom of her licked-clean fork. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, birthday cake,” Ranger drawled, his eyes crinkled in amusement. “Mary Alice, I have to disagree,” he stated, though he kept his gaze on Stephanie. “Steph with birthday cake is </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pretty sight.” He flashed a brief, almost incandescent smile. “Just not for the cake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Mary Alice’s laugh, Stephanie pushed her empty plate away in mock humor, “Ugh, I’m definitely being ganged up on, here.” She smiled, though, as she said it. She'd forgotten how much she used to enjoy Ranger's playfulness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No way,” Mary Alice leaned forward over Stephanie’s shoulder to pick up the now-empty cake box. Turning toward the kitchen, Mary Alice archly commented, “It’s not officially ‘ganging up’ until we get Angie on speaker phone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Yeah, you’re right about that. And now I’m really grateful that Angie has Ballroom Dance on Thursday evenings, like tonight, all the way up to Thanksgiving.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Mom,” Mary Alice emerged back from the kitchen, her glass now full of milk. “That reminds me. Did you invite Ranger to Thanksgiving yet?” She looked over at Ranger. “Because it would be so great if you could come, and bring your daughter too. Me and Angie could take her to Faneuil Hall on Saturday for the Christmas tree and the all-tuba concert of holiday songs—which is wicked awesome, by the way—and then go ice skating downtown at Frog Pond.” She smiled brightly. “It’s our annual thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It sounds like something Julie would enjoy,” Ranger temporized. “But I’ll know better, closer to the date.” Stephanie saw Ranger retreat to his usual impassive expression as he focused back on his dinner, and she saw Mary Alice’s puzzled look as she watched.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie reached out and loosely wrapped her arm around Mary Alice’s waist. “We’ll see what happens, sweetheart. It’s still a few weeks away.” She squeezed gently. “And besides, both Ranger and Julie may already have plans for Thanksgiving weekend. Okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Mom,” Mary Alice nibbled her lip and then turned toward Ranger. “It just would be nice, is all. I sometimes get enthused about stuff, but I didn’t mean to push. Sorry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No apologies needed,” Ranger looked up at the girl, and his eyes softened. “It’s a kind offer, thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mary Alice answered, bashful. Then, she wobbled her head in a gesture that Stephanie had always thought of as Mary Alice shaking new information into her mind’s creative swirl. “Oh wait,” Mary Alice said as she pulled away from Stephanie, “I forgot to thank you, Ranger, for the notes on my history paper.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Alice pushed a lock of wavy hair behind her ear. “That one article you mentioned really helped that whole Gulf of Tonkin thing make sense. I never heard of that ‘false flag’ idea, though. It’s kinda scary, because now I wonder how many other things we read about in history class are all twisty that way.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“False flag?” Stephanie asked, looking between Mary Alice and Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p><span>Ranger nodded. “It’s an old naval term that’s used as military shorthand for ‘covert operations’</span> <span>these days. Basically, it’s when you secretly make it look like your enemy did something bad, so you can justify attacking them from a moral high ground.” Ranger shrugged. “Looking carefully, and knowing the players, you can sometimes figure out what was </span><em><span>really</span></em><span> happening behind the scenes.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused, head tipped. Then he continued smoothly, “But unless you’re trying to unravel it in real-time as part of an operation, it’s usually most helpful to look at the effects afterward. Because the force has already been applied and you’re dealing with the impact of it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm, yeah,” Mary Alice said, “I guess it’s like how you have to try to capture and control the ball after it gets to you, even if the kick changed its direction or the other person did one of those hip fakes or some other misdirection.” Mary Alice paused thoughtfully. “You need to know that stuff happened to predict how the ball will spin, but basically you have to track the ball </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span> to make your own move.”    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Ranger nodded, a quiet smile dusting his lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, speaking of hip fakes, or hip checks,” Mary Alice grinned, “I'm headed back to the Bruins game, now underway in Boston Garden South, which is another name for our living room. So behave yourselves, you crazy kids. Remember that </span>
  <em>
    <span>we can hear you</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Mary Alice drew out the last few words as she swept her finger along Stephanie’s back. Mary Alice dodged as Stephanie made a grab for her daughter, and then Mary Alice danced out of the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That goes both ways kiddo,” Stephanie said, laughing, then turned back to Ranger. “So,” she smiled, “you’re coping pretty well with a normal Plum family evening. Dinner, songs, homework, hockey, randomness... welcome to my life.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s a good life Steph,” Ranger said softly, meeting her eyes. “Even if you’ve never had </span>
  <em>
    <span>tres leches</span>
  </em>
  <span> cake from </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Oriental de Cuba</span>
  </em>
  <span>. It’s still hard for me to imagine that you’ve missed a dessert opportunity that’s in the neighborhood.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“We’ve just never managed to go there,” Stephanie said, trying for an offhand tone. Seeing Ranger put down his dinner spoon, Stephanie asked, “Ranger, do you want anymore goulash? There’s still a couple more servings and you only had one helping. Here in the Plum household, there’s no need to stop at just one bowl.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Steph I’m good,” Ranger answered after a brief pause. “I had a fair-sized lunch, early this afternoon.” He leaned against the back of his chair. “But this was really good. Did I overhear that you cooked it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie, still sensitive to slurs against her cooking abilities from her unlamentably short marriage and the rebound period afterward, reflexively searched Ranger’s voice for criticism. Then she recognized what she was doing, and realized it wasn’t a trap. “Yeah,” Stephanie answered, “this is the famous Mazur-Kazmer recipe, though I buy the noodles like my Grandma Mazur used to do, instead of making the little dumplings like </span>
  <em>
    <span>her</span>
  </em>
  <span> mother, Mama Kazmer.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hard to imagine your Grandma Mazur in the kitchen, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt a giggle escaping. “I know. By the time you met Grandma Mazur, we were all running interference to keep her away from anything flammable or explosive. But when I was a little girl, she was still a ’Burg housewife.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled fondly at memories of playing at her grandparents’ house; often just her and Grandma Mazur. “Of course,” Stephanie admitted, “she was on the eccentric side even then—and has </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> been scary at Bingo—but she could cook and Grandpa Mazur could eat. Mostly from the lard-and-cholesterol food pyramid, but I think that’s how everyone cooked back then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyebrow drifted upward and Stephanie shrugged, knowing Ranger’s opinion on the ’Burg diet. “But anyway Ranger, Grandma Mazur taught me how to cook goulash and </span>
  <em>
    <span>paprikash </span>
  </em>
  <span>when I was little. It’s like comfort food, and really easy. Throw it all in the stew pot, set a timer, and behold: dinner for the hordes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked down to see her fingers absently tracing around the salt and pepper shakers on the table. She looked up at Ranger, noting his thoughtful expression as he listened in his characteristically focused way. Shrugging again, Stephanie admitted quietly, “My mom never cooked goulash because my dad hated it. Really, my dad can’t stand paprika with meat, so that mostly eliminates Hungarian cooking. But I still remember how to cook it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad I got to try your goulash recipe, Steph,” Ranger said in his low timbre. “You’ve always shared unexpected gifts.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie swallowed, feeling herself being absorbed into Ranger’s intense gaze. She started to lean forward, as though trying to feel the emotions behind his eyes; trying to sense the words he wasn’t saying. Then he broke his gaze, his long fingers edging his cake plate subtly closer toward him, as though warding off her forward movement in its direction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, normally I’d share this last piece of cake with you,” he said, as Stephanie followed the delicate movements of his hand. “But, your reminder about cholesterol makes me aware that you've probably had your quota today.” Stephanie looked up in time to see what she swore looked like a twinkle in Ranger's eyes.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"So the temple is closed for the evening? Desserts may enter?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Sacrifices must be made." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger kept his gaze on Stephanie as he brought his fork to his lips. Stephanie watched as Ranger took the first bite of cake, intrigued as she saw his eyes seem to waver in their focus, his attention suddenly inward. She watched as the wrinkles around his eyes seemed to smooth out, and his lips relaxed as his hand smoothly lowered to his plate for another bite.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Puzzled by the sight of Ranger seeming to enjoy dessert, Stephanie pinched herself under the table to make sure she wasn’t off in a half-dream. But </span>
  <em>
    <span>ouch</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and no… and then Stephanie remembered that this was dessert from a Cuban restaurant. Like goulash was for Stephanie, this was probably one of Ranger’s comfort foods. A celebration for having found the two Figueroa boys today, as he’d described a couple moments ago while eating. A rescue of the innocents. She felt suddenly warm from within, awash in memories of shared celebratory desserts with family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which brought her mind back to the earlier conversation about Thanksgiving. She remembered very well that Ranger had a habit of working through holidays, which she’d never quite understood. This time, though if she'd read his body language right, it wasn't the idea of visiting over the long weekend that had closed him down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Knowing what she needed to ask, but also knowing how readily Ranger deflected talk away from himself, Stephanie knew she needed to start slowly. So she reached out across the table to Ranger’s free hand, carefully avoiding the remaining bruises. She felt the life in his hand, its warmth, the zing of energy that was Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With honesty, she said, “Ranger, you’re so good with Mary Alice. Thank you for helping her with her paper.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A pleasure, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"You know, she really likes you." Her face relaxed into a quiet smile that trumped any reservations she might have. "All the girls like you. They can tell you're a good person." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "Thanks Steph." With a shrug he added, "I try. The world doesn't always make it easy." He resumed eating, glancing at his rapidly diminishing piece of cake.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No it doesn’t; I know that for myself.” Stephanie agreed. Unconsciously nibbling her lip, she heard the sounds of the hockey game from the living room. That familiar sound, along with the usual conversation, told Stephanie that her girls were occupied for the moment. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning forward, she pulsed Ranger’s hand lightly, feeling the strength and pent-up energy that characterized Ranger even when he was at rest. At his glance, she commented, “So here's the thing Ranger,” she said as though responding to something he’d said. “The girls have adopted you.” She swallowed, but kept her gaze on his face, consciously relaxing her expression as she spoke. “So it will be harder for all of us if you decide to disappear again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger's lips gentled into a soft, rueful expression as he put down his fork. “Not trying to disappear, Babe.” Stephanie idly noted that his dessert plate was as clean as his dinner bowl, both looking like they'd been laid out in the Mojave desert for ants to clean, the way she'd seen on a nature show last summer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger turned his hand over, wrapping his fingers around hers lightly. “I just don’t want to make commitments I can’t keep.” He was silent for a moment, then shrugged. “Right now, I’m still out on bail for that gang shooting.” He seemed about to say something else, then inhaled. “Making promises you can’t keep is a bad thing, especially to kids. They don’t understand.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More quietly he added, “And I’ve done enough of that to know.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie knew it was time. Keeping a gentle hold on his hand, she asked, "Do you ever see Julie these days?” She watched as Ranger’s expression retreated behind the walls of his normal reserve, his hand becoming hard under her fingers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She waited, not sure if he was going to answer. An advertisement played on the TV in the living room. The dishwasher in the kitchen clicked into a different part of the cycle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she felt the tension in his hand release. “Not much. I see Julie a little more, now that she’s in college.” He glanced quickly at Stephanie, then flicked his eyes away. “Julie’s up at Sarah Lawrence College, about an hour away from where I’m based in New York.” Ranger looked into the distance, his lips quirked in something that might look like humor on someone else’s face. “Rachel is still pissed that, because I’m paying for Julie’s college expenses, Julie was able to leave home for school.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now he did smile, but it wasn’t a friendly look. “Rachel accuses me of brainwashing Julie into coming up north for school.” Ranger shrugged, “I’m not exactly sure when that was supposed to have happened, since I never had unsupervised visits with Julie. And I wasn’t consulted in her college application process.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie squeezed Ranger’s hand as she asked, “Do you think maybe Julie chose a college all the way up in New York because she wanted to be nearer to you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled, his thumb lightly tapping Stephanie’s hand before he pulled it away. “I honestly don’t know. Though I like to imagine that’s the case.” Ranger’s lips lifted briefly, this time with recognizable amusement. “But, you’ll be shocked to hear that I don’t communicate particularly well with her. When I drove her from LaGuardia to her dorm, she said it was like having a long car ride with RoboCop.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Hey Ranger, at least it wasn’t the Terminator.” As Ranger snorted in reply, Stephanie giggled, “Come on, face it: Julie just hasn’t had time to get used to your driving zone. Give her enough rides and she’ll start fidgeting and talking with the best of them.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought about teasing Ranger that maybe he should invite Julie on a stake-out if he really wanted to induce fidgeting, but then Stephanie remembered Joe’s long-ago comment that Julie was like a mini Ranger. Probably Ranger and Julie would have a great father-daughter time on a stake-out, sitting motionless for hours together and saying absolutely nothing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Struck with that thought, Stephanie leaned back. “You know Ranger, that’s probably part of the problem: she doesn’t really know who you are, is probably unsure what you’re thinking, and you don’t talk when you don’t know people. I’m guessing that she probably doesn’t either.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded to herself. “What you need is your own Mary Alice. She could start a conversation with a tree and it would probably answer. Even if it didn’t answer, Mary Alice would be completely undaunted.” Stephanie shot Ranger a cagey look. “You know, I think Mary Alice was right: you should bring Julie for Thanksgiving. Or just ship Julie over here for the long weekend. Between Mary Alice and Angie, they’ll soften her up for you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed, a rolling sound that rumbled almost below the threshold of hearing. “Babe, it’s tempting.” This time he reached his hand out to hers. In a low voice, he murmured, “How about this: I’ll privately commit to you that I’ll t</span>
  <em>
    <span>ry</span>
  </em>
  <span> to come here for Thanksgiving.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Stephanie’s half-squinting attempt at a raised eyebrow, Ranger raised his own in mock irony and nodded. “And yes, Babe, I’ll </span>
  <em>
    <span>try</span>
  </em>
  <span> to bring Julie.” His eyes flashed in humor. “Actually, I think she’s been angling to spend time with me over that long weekend. Unfortunately RoboCop isn’t sure what to do for four whole days with a know-it-all, college-aged daughter who likes to push boundaries.” He paused for effect. “I thought of putting her on mess duty or assigning her extra push-ups in the bunk room, but suspect that those tactics might be ineffective.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed gently. “Ranger, they all like to push boundaries. It’s a rite of passage. Some push hard, like Angie. Some are just always testing the waters, like Mary Alice.” At Ranger’s vaguely dismayed expression, Stephanie chuckled again. She’d seen the same look on Darius’ face and on Joe’s: the face of a father confronting the mystery of having a daughter with his own face, who was yet sometimes as alien as the moon.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t worry Ranger. I would love to see Julie again. She was an amazing, no-nonsense, brave girl when I met her.” Stephanie paused a beat, and then grinned at Ranger. “Just like her father. So if she’s still brave, and feels up to a Plum family adventure, we definitely have experience with college-aged daughters who push boundaries.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stretched as she added, “Besides, they’re like puppies and keep each other occupied between bouts of shredding the furniture.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie found her imagination briefly following that thought. She pictured Mary Alice as an energetic terrier or Irish setter puppy taunting at Angie, yipping in retriever form. Julie was perhaps a wolfhound pup watching regally from the side until nipped by one of the others. At which point all puppy-play dynamics reset. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Noting the faint line between Ranger’s brows, she knew he was struggling with another “Stephanie Plum through the looking glass” moment. Probably she had mumbled some of her mental imagery aloud. Stephanie snorted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before she could say anything further, she heard Mary Alice calling loudly from the living room, “And, it’s Bergeron to Fraser for the goal!” Then Lisa shouted, “Woo hoo,” and Stephanie found herself leaning across the table to see the TV. Not for the first time, Stephanie mused that her usual dining room chair, closest to the kitchen, didn’t give her the best view of the living room. Definitely not a good view of the TV.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, Ranger was seated in the chair with that view, and also the vantage on both the front door and the back door in the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie glanced toward Ranger. “Since we’re both finished eating, let’s go watch the game.” Impishly, she added, “It’s another authentic ‘Plum family experience’ that you can add to the brochure for when you pitch ‘Thanksgiving in Boston’ to Julie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger huffed out a laugh and stood along with her. “But Babe,” his voice deadpanned, “watching the Bruins?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I gotta root for the Boston Bruins unless it’s a game against the New York Rangers,” Stephanie answered, moving into the living room. “Then it’s no choice: I’ve gotta root for the Rangers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding sagely, Ranger replied, “Good choice, Babe.” He slanted his gaze toward Stephanie. “At least you have your priorities straight when it comes to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rangers</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie rolled her eyes at Ranger’s smug expression, though inside she smiled. Yes, maybe she did finally have her priorities straight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Attuned to Ranger, Stephanie sensed Ranger’s flicker of hesitation on entering the living room. She paused and looked around, trying to see the room from Ranger’s perspective. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the midst of a mixture of homey furniture, Sarah was seated with Mary Alice and her laptop on the loveseat, while Lisa was on the sofa. A beanbag chair was snug against the worn plaid recliner that lent a 1950s air to the seating group. A couple of armchairs sat along the wall, and all of them loosely surrounded the coffee table and faced the TV.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In essence, though, it was a group of girls watching TV; someone else’s very female family. And Lisa was probably sitting exactly where Ranger wanted to be: the seat with the best view of all entrances to the room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie lightly bumped his shoulder as they stood side by side. “Lisa likes the beanbag chair, so she'd be happy to move. Do you want to sit on the sofa with me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He turned to look at her with an expression that Stephanie couldn’t quite read. “Not on the recliner?” Ranger asked quietly, his face inexpressive. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure you can sit there if you prefer,” Stephanie admitted. “But, just so you know, that’s my dad’s old chair from Trenton and the springs are busted. He’s the only person who likes it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmm,” Ranger replied with a nod. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie paused, puzzled. There was something here she wasn’t understanding. Meanwhile, she noticed that Lisa was already gathering papers and ribbons into her crafts box, ready to move to the beanbag. Then Lisa looked up, her gaze panning between Stephanie and Ranger, who were still standing near the living room door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” Lisa exclaimed, her eyes widening. “Oh, Mr. Ranger, did you want the beanbag instead? I don’t have to sit there if you want it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled, then stopped and smiled. “Why, thank you Lisa,” he said with almost a courtly gesture. “But, ladies first. Where would you prefer to sit?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A blush flowered across Lisa’s face. “Well... um,” she began as she brought her hands in front of her and twisted them together. Then Lisa seemed to find her confidence and smiled shyly back at Ranger. “I’d actually like to sit on the beanbag. If you don’t mind.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa reached up to brush strands of her straight brown hair back from her forehead. “Now that I’m done with dessert and don’t have to be at a table so I won’t spill anything or knock it over. I can spread my stuff out on the ground where it’s out of the way and nobody will trip on it.” Lisa ended with a characteristic seriousness that Stephanie had always found incredibly endearing.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds like a deal then,” Ranger answered with matching gravity, “since I had a long day and  I’d prefer the couch tonight.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Cool,” Lisa enthused as she stood up. “Grandma and Grandpa Kloughn gave us the beanbag chair last year. It’s like the ones they have at their place from when my father was a boy, but this one’s new,” Lisa explained as though imparting important family lore to Ranger, while she shifted her belongings to the floor. “Also, ours is blue, which is my favorite color,” she confessed as she sat in a small flurry of legs and arms, a look of restrained delight on her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie saw Ranger’s lip twitch in humor as he answered, “Good to know.” He looked at Stephanie, then inclined his head toward the room. “After you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sure Ranger,” Stephanie exhaled a brief chuckle, enjoying the surprise of Ranger’s gallant manners. As she headed to the near side of the sofa, she walked behind Mary Alice and glanced at her daughter’s laptop. After talking with Winkelsteen in the computer lab, Stephanie had visions of Mary Alice hacking into the space station from the family loveseat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squinting, Stephanie decided Mary Alice was simply looking at a hockey site. Hesitating briefly at the thought that it might be a betting site, Stephanie decided she was “over-mom-ing” the situation, to borrow one of Angie’s pointed phrases. So Stephanie decided to ignore Mary Alice’s unsubtle eye roll and continued to the sofa, where she sat down.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger, moving behind her, leaned down to hand Lisa some papers she’d left on the coffee table. Then, he sat on the other side of the sofa. Stephanie marveled anew how a man as physically imposing could be so graceful and economical in his movements. She didn’t miss that Ranger’s posture was casual, as relaxed as Ranger ever was around other people, but he was still in a position where he could jackknife into action.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie also didn’t miss Mary Alice’s veiled, sideways glance toward the sofa. Smirking, she knew her daughter’s curiosity very well: Mary Alice was a Plum, through and through. Stephanie slanted her own eyes toward Ranger, noting the amount of space he’d left between them. She snorted; the nuns in school would have been guardedly pleased that Ranger had left more than a little room for the “holy ghost” to sit between them. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, the nuns would also have known that Stephanie was likely to ignore the interpersonal space restrictions expected by having a ghost-sized space between herself and another. And they probably would have guessed that Ranger was equally inclined to ignore such boundaries. But Stephanie’s daughters didn’t need to know that.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fortunately, at that moment the commercial break ended on TV and Mary Alice’s attention was diverted back to hockey. Stephanie looked around at all her girls and saw them focused. Stephanie wondered whether anyone had ever studied whether sugar-and-fat genes were related somehow to hockey genes. It would make sense, she mused, and explain a few things about her family. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then a blocked Bruins goal riveted Stephanie’s attention, too, and she leaned forward to join her daughters in a rallying cry. After a while, though, in a lull in the game’s action, Stephanie glanced over at Ranger from the corner of her eye. She could tell he was watching the room more than the game, his posture still deceptively casual. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Of course he was</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. It was typical of the Ranger she remembered. But, in addition, it made sense after their discussion at the dining room table about Ranger’s day, finding the two lost boys, Hamidi and Joao Figueroa. The names had rolled off Ranger’s tongue with pride and protectiveness. She’d seen his satisfaction, mingled with a dark expression in his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Ranger had locked eyes on Stephanie, sitting across the dining room table, and commented quietly, “You keep them safe.” He’d gestured with his head toward the living room, toward Stephanie’s girls and added, “I see it, Steph.” His expression had softened as he’d added “Proud of you, Babe. Really proud.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Ranger’s quiet praise, Stephanie had felt emotions pulsing inside her like a second heart. She’d smiled as she’d felt an ache similar to tears teasing happily behind her eyes. They were only a few words, but knowing that a man of Ranger’s abilities and powerful convictions had spoken them was like a blessing as sweet as the cake he’d brought for dessert. She’d always known he only praised when he meant it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now, while the second period of tonight’s hockey game played in its everyday hubbub in front of her and Ranger sat patiently in her periphery, Stephanie wondered if anyone ever told Ranger they were proud of </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She thought about what life must have been like for Ranger these past few years. She’d seen the threading of silver in the dark brown along his temples. Tonight, she’d idly noted that it matched the sparkles of silver mixed in with his light evening’s beard growth. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>elegant</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought to herself. Proof of time and hard-won experience written on Ranger for all to see. A badge of honor for having made it this far. And darned handsome, too, but that was just Ranger. Stephanie felt herself smile at the thought, and she imagined that Ranger’s head tipped slightly in speculation on the other end of the sofa. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Thinking of Ranger with graying hair made Stephanie remember something Mary Lou had once told her. Which was that gray hairs didn’t mean someone was wiser; just that they were a survivor. They’d been able to successfully chart a course through whatever crap life had thrown at them and were still here. It might be through intelligence; it might be sheer dumb luck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In Ranger’s case, Stephanie knew that he made his own luck from being intelligent, being prepared, and being brave. Not just stubborn, the way Stephanie knew she herself was. But truly brave. Intentionally daring the odds to do the right thing. The </span>
  <em>
    <span>morally</span>
  </em>
  <span> correct thing, which Stephanie had come to know in her bones was harder even than just doing the black-and-white “right” thing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Brave just because courage was needed. That was Ranger, looking at the evidence, weighing the outcomes, and putting himself on the line to do what was needed regardless of whether anyone would ever know. Even if he might be caught in the resulting backdraft. Doing things because they needed to be done to keep the balance of good. Yes, that was Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But through it all, he’d held himself apart, his life on hold. She’d seen it even in Trenton. Even more during this week of seeing him anew; an old friend seen through different eyes. And she suspected strongly that Ranger himself was completely aware of the trade-offs he’d made. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, Stephanie squared her shoulders, Ranger wasn’t alone anymore. He’d said he wasn’t planning on disappearing from her life again, and Ranger was a man who kept promises. Of course, it couldn’t hurt if Stephanie resolved to help him keep that particular promise. At that, she smiled and looked at Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she said, catching Ranger’s eyes. “Penny for your thoughts.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes crinkled in relaxed humor. “Just thinking about how far you’ve come, Steph. How comfortable it is here. You’ve done well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Ranger,” she answered. “But you know,” Stephanie answered quietly, seeing Mary Alice’s head tilt slightly in a way that Stephanie knew meant she was listening. “I meant it when I said you’re family. You’re welcome here any time.” She reached over toward his foot with her own, tapping him lightly with her slippered toes. “You’re more than a guest. I hope you know that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger tipped his head. “As long as I don’t have to sit in Frank’s chair to prove it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie heard Mary Alice snort, and couldn’t help her own chuckle. “Ranger,” Stephanie retorted, “the only thing you’d be proving if you sat in that chair is that you have a fearless approach to upholstery springs.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, she heard her alert daughter smother a laugh and, from the corner of her eyes, she noticed Sarah looking speculatively from Mary Alice over to Stephanie and Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary Alice,” Stephanie said, “it’s getting late. Would you please take the dessert dishes back to the kitchen and put them in the sink?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can’t it wait?” her daughter asked.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary Alice,” Stephanie said, directing her glance to her warningly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay okay, I’m on it,” the leggy girl stood up from the loveseat and picked up the remaining glasses and plates from the coffee table. Stephanie heard Mary Alice’s muttered “busted” as she reached over to pick up a plate from next to Sarah. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll help,” Sarah’s youthful voice chimed in, as the smaller girl stood up and took some of the precariously-balanced glassware from Mary Alice’s hands. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Lisa looked up. “I should help too,” she volunteered breathlessly as she scooted herself up from her beanbag chair, before trotting after her sisters into the kitchen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Still know how to clear a room Babe,” Ranger commented dryly as Stephanie reached out to the remote control to lower the volume on the TV.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie shrugged. “Turns out that it’s an inherent ‘mom’ ability, like being able to put a damper on a sleepover party with just one trek up the stairs and a pointed look.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re good, I’ll give you that,” Ranger said with a low, rolling laugh.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Ranger,” Stephanie began, trying for a casual tone. “Is everything okay with what you and Joe discussed? Is there anything I need to know?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s expression remained unchanged, but Stephanie noted a slight shift in his eyes. “No, nothing you need to know,” he replied. “Morelli was just reminding me of a couple things. Off the record.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie drew out her answer, willing herself to take Ranger’s answer at face value. It wasn’t natural for her to drop questions before she knew the details, but she recognized that someone like Ranger would sometimes need that from her. So that’s what she’d do. Stephanie nodded to herself, as though to underscore the point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It helped that, given the time and changes in their lives, she wasn’t too worried that Joe had been handing off Bombshell Bounty Hunter protection duty to Ranger when they spoke. That memory still irked her, though now she understood why the men in her lives had been running interference for her. Probably she was still alive because of it. Something to think about. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And well, these days she and Joe had a good open friendship, and had cleared the air about a lot of that history.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As though loosely following her train of thought, in his usual uncanny manner, Ranger tipped his head and commented, “You and Morelli must still talk a lot.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie acknowledged. “One of us calls the other about once a month or so. A bit more around the holidays and birthdays.” She reached out her slipper and ran it along Ranger’s foot again, feeling the strength of his arch up through his ankle through his wool sock. “It took a while. But Joe and I finally figured out how to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>friends</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She looked at her hands, now sitting in her lap. “I wish we’d figured that out a lot sooner, but sometimes I’m a little stubborn.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard Ranger snort, and then she felt his fingers slip loosely around her slippered foot. As she looked up, he pursed his lips as though pondering a mystery. “You?” He asked, his eyes glinting in the reflected light of the TV. “Stubborn?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ha!” she answered, reaching over to playfully whap his arm. Then, hearing her daughters returning from the kitchen, Stephanie poked Ranger one more time with her toes before pulling her foot back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Dah dah doo,” Mary Alice was singing nonsense syllables to her song again as Lisa scurried back into the room, rolling her eyes. “Dah dah dah doo,” Mary Alice twirled into the room along with Sarah in a loose dance move. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>so</span>
  </em>
  <span> annoying,” Lisa said, stopped in front of the sofa with her hands on her hips in a gesture that reminded Stephanie of her own mother. “Those aren’t even real words.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s okay honey,” Stephanie reached out to pull Lisa into a hug. “Sometimes people sing that way,” Stephanie murmured into her daughter’s soft, sandy-colored hair. “It lets them focus on the melody without worrying about the lyrics.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laughing in the doorway, Mary Alice spun in place, pretending that Sarah had led her into a dance turn. As both girls giggled, Mary Alice finished, “Dah dee-dah... dah-dah dee dah!” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lisa shook her head and then wriggled out of Stephanie’s grasp. “Now I’m going to have the ‘dah dee dah’ song in my head all night,” Lisa objected.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know honey,” Stephanie answered as she smiled at Ranger and then stood up from the sofa. Tousling Sarah’s hair on the way, Stephanie headed over to Mary Alice. “Maybe tomorrow we could have a different song; one with words?” she asked while loosely hugging Mary Alice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Mom,” Mary Alice answered, a mischievous look in her eyes. “Hmmm, there are so many to choose from.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sure there are, and you’ll choose one we all like,” Stephanie said pointedly. Mary Alice smiled brightly, and Stephanie spared a moment to hope that tomorrow wouldn’t be another day of </span>
  <em>
    <span>My Way</span>
  </em>
  <span> belted throughout the house. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow,” Stephanie turned to her other daughters. “Right now, it’s the end of the second hockey period on a school night. And you know what that means.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it’s time to go upstairs and listen to the rest of the game on our contraband radios,” Mary Alice waggled her eyebrows while adding, “while cleverly using our earbuds under the covers in the dark.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mary Alice,” Stephanie glared, hiding her amusement at Mary Alice’s jibe, which she strongly suspected was true. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey, not fair. I don’t have a contraband radio!” Lisa whined. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It was just a joke,” Mary Alice freed herself from Stephanie’s embrace and put her arm over Lisa’s shoulder. Behind her, Sarah made a face. Which confirmed Stephanie’s suspicion about the under-covers radio in Mary Alice’s room.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But as Mary Alice knows,” Stephanie added with a pointed glance at her older daughter, whose brown-flecked eyes were level with her own. “What’s really important is to be well rested for school tomorrow.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mom’s right,” Mary Alice affirmed with a rueful expression. She fluffed her hand through Lisa’s sandy hair, ignoring the smaller girl’s squirm. “Besides,” Mary Alice turned to her round-faced sister with renewed enthusiasm, “you know that half the fun is waking up the next day to find out the score and read the game highlights out-loud over breakfast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah maybe,” Lisa escaped Mary Alice’s embrace and batted her sister’s trailing arm. “But you usually stay up and see the end of the game.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not tonight kiddo,” Mary Alice stretched her free arm. “Long day, you know.” She held her hand over what looked like a yawn. “So, time for bed,” she added brightly. Reaching out, Mary Alice hugged Stephanie. “Good night Mom,” she smiled. Then, her eyes shining, Mary Alice looked over to the sofa. “Good night Ranger, I hope you sleep well.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Mary Alice,” Ranger started to stand, and then felt a small hand grab his, tugging him back downward. Looking over, he saw Sarah’s wide, hazel eyes gazing intently at him under her crown of loose, curly hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m really glad Saint Martin was able to bring you home tonight Mr. Ranger,” she said, smiling serenely at Ranger. “He doesn’t like everyone, but he likes you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m glad too,” Ranger said as he belatedly started to pull Sarah’s saint’s medal from under his shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Sarah interrupted, releasing Ranger’s hand and reaching out to rest her small, slim fingers against his chest where the medal still warmed his skin under his sweater. Sarah tipped her head in a birdlike gesture that suddenly reminded Ranger of Stephanie’s Grandma Mazur. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Saint Martin wants to stay with you for a while longer, Mr. Ranger,” the small girl said. Shyly, she added, “At least until his party day next week.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing a beat of puzzlement pulse briefly in Ranger’s eyes, Stephanie murmured, “She means the saint’s feast day. It’s the eleventh of November, same as Veteran’s Day. That’s why I remember it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “I’d be honored Sarah,” his low voice answered the small girl. Stephanie noted the gravity of his voice and the formalness of his posture; it was as if Sarah were truly awarding him with a medal.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And anyway, I still have my father’s star,” she pulled her hand back and traced the chain around her own neck, down to the pendant under her shirt. Then her heart-shaped face lit with a smile and she suddenly reached out. Her arms encircled Ranger briefly as she said, “I hope you sleep well tonight.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Startled, Ranger reached out awkwardly to pat Sarah on the shoulder as she pulled away. “You too,” he said. Sarah nodded and turned to Lisa, both of whom hugged Stephanie, and then turned toward the stairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Goodnight Mom,” Sarah’s and Lisa’s tandem voices echoed, slightly out of synch, from the stairs. “Goodnight Mr. Ranger,” they called out. Mary Alice, shepherding them up the stairs, called out, “Goodnight Uncle Buck,” right after them, and the three girls giggled their way up to their rooms.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Ugh, Mary Alice watches way too much TV.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged. With a speculative look, he commented, “You know, Mary Alice makes a good point. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> does sound odd.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie answered, still smiling. “But Ranger’s your name.” Then she tilted her head. “Oh wait. But I never even asked this: is your family more formal? Would it be better if they called you Mr. Mañoso, or Uncle Mañoso?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh. “God no, Steph. I’d be looking around for my father or my Uncle Miguel.” He looked down and seemed to be studying the bruises that were fading on his knuckles. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Ranger looked up at her, with an expression that Stephanie couldn’t interpret. Oddly, it wasn’t Ranger’s blank face; the one designed to baffle anyone who looked closely. Instead, it was as though all of his emotions were suddenly visible, at once, focused through the frame of Ranger’s exquisite control. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie sat back down on the sofa, still looking into Ranger’s eyes. As she tried to fathom his current mood, Ranger said quietly, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> is my public identity. For several years—when you knew me in Trenton—that’s just who I said I was. It was easier.” His eyes remained focused on hers, and Stephanie knew he was telling her something important. She felt as though he was drawing her closer through his eyes alone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger lifted his chin. “But, you can call me Rick.” She felt her lips outline the word “Rick” silently, fascinated as though by a new flavor that was somehow familiar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With an almost ironic smile, Ranger explained, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Ricardo</span>
  </em>
  <span> is my birth name and it’s the name my family used when I was a boy.” He crossed his ankles and shrugged with one shoulder. “But, let’s face it: I grew up in New Jersey. I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span> since I started school.” He shifted his gaze into the distance, his voice quiet. “That’s how I think of myself: Rick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” she said with wonder, feeling the prosaic, everyday name become special by being associated with Ranger. Feeling the name wrap around his image in her mind, melting into him, becoming him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” Stephanie repeated, finding herself leaning toward him on the sofa, her movement drawing his eyes back to her. Without much conscious thought, she reached out her hand and lightly feathered the hair lightly back from his face with her fingers. She felt the vigor of Ranger’s smooth, thick hair and saw the tension in his jaw start to relax. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie smiled, feeling shy as a teenager. “Thank you Rick,” she tried out his name, still feeling the newness of it, the way it felt smooth and simple and round like a marble against her tongue. “It’ll take me some time, and I might forget sometimes, but I’m happy that you want me to use your real name.” Her voice almost a whisper, she added, “It’s a good name.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached up to her hand where it was still lightly moving along his hairline, and pulled it down to his lips. She felt his warm breath as he murmured, “It was my grandfather’s name,” he murmured with a light, soft press of his lips against her fingers. “Well, Ricardo was his name, or Rico.” He murmured, “He was a good man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So are you, Rick,” Stephanie asserted quietly, feeling a warm wave of loyalty rise within. She felt Ranger smile against her fingers and then he lowered their hands, his fingers remaining meshed with hers. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Some might argue with you, but I do my best,” he replied, the deep brown of his eyes suddenly more pronounced.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They just don’t know you,” Stephanie answered, feeling breathless. “They only know Ranger the badass bounty hunter. The guy who is a one-man special forces squad.” She tilted her head, humor rising in her voice. “Or, they know the Ranger who met me in that Trenton diner wearing gangster clothes and talking ‘street’ so he could ditch the Jersey-girl-white-chick he told Connie he’d meet only because he owed the Rosolli family a favor.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh. “Ah, you figured that out, did you?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah...” she stumbled momentarily over his name before amending, “Yeah Rick.” She smiled, knowingly. “It took me awhile, but I figured out that disguise.” She exhaled, “Though I admit that I figured out the ‘favor to Connie’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>family</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a capital F’ thing later, during a late night of after-hours shots of Schnapps at the bonds office.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged, then said, “You never disappoint Babe,” voice almost an octave lower, his thumb moving slowly on her hand. “As I recall, though, you read me the riot act even back then, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sweet Thing</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” he said, his eyes sparkling with amusement. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a flash, Stephanie remembered that Ranger had called her that when they first met. He’d been dismissive, disdainfully trying to get in her face. In her suddenly-fresh memory, she saw him slouched in the Trenton diner’s vinyl seating, hair back in a ponytail, wearing a black T-shirt that was tighter than usual and made his biceps look like bulging, polished works of art. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, as she recalled it, she’d given back as good as Ranger had dished out. “We were something else, back then, weren’t we,” Stephanie chuckled, amused at her memories. “It seems like yesterday, and also a lifetime ago.” Stephanie’s fingers clasped Ranger’s hand a bit more firmly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s dark eyes gazed at her speculatively, though Stephanie couldn’t quite interpret his expression. “A lot of history between us, in that lifetime,” he said evenly. His voice still pitched low, he added, “A lot I’ve missed.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie agreed, thinking that she’d also missed a lot of what had happened to Ranger in that lost time. She wanted to dive in, head-first, and know everything, say everything, feel everything. But she knew she was a different person than the the big-haired Jersey girl who’d sparred with Ranger because she wanted to work for Vinnie without even a clue what that meant. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt a smile blossom on her face. “We could start over,” Stephanie exclaimed, clearing her throat and straightening her fingers in Ranger’s grasp with a light handshake. “Hi Rick, my name is Stephanie Plum. You must be the badass bounty hunter that Connie Rosolli knows.” She paused briefly as she quickly revised her remembered comments from the long-ago diner. “I am happy to say, though, that I don’t own a brown Nova anymore, thank God.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, remembering the hunk of junk she’d been forced to drive when she'd met Ranger. Seeing the amusement in Ranger’s gaze, she continued. “And Ranger—I mean Rick—finally I have steady employment.” Eyes sparkling, she added, “Let’s see, how does this next part go? There’s me, and then there’s you, and I’m never gonna be as badass as you.” She paused a beat, then grinned. “But I’ll always have better outfits. And shoes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger laughed, a full throated sound that was slow and deep, running through her skin like a bass beat. Like a momentary second pulse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"No contest there Babe," Ranger's dark eyes were set in smile lines as he gazed at Stephanie. "Never going to be a pastels and fashion kind of guy."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt her smile broaden. Pulling her hand out of the now awkward clasp between them, Stephanie reached up and brushed away a lock of hair from Ranger's face. It seemed so natural to do, even though she’d rarely seen Ranger's hair loose around his face in the time she’d known him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s dark eyes focused on her face; the observant look was back, along with an overlay of desire that she remembered. And something else, which might be caution, or might be longing. She kept watch on Ranger’s face as she continued the light movement of her fingers along his hairline. As a brief, relaxed smile traced along Ranger's lips, Stephanie melted slightly as she almost imagined a purr. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the back of Stephanie's mind she realized that the post-game interview was on TV. Normally that was her bedtime cue on hockey night; the final scene that gave routine closure to another day. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But today wasn't just another routine day. Here she sat, looking at Ranger. At </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she reminded herself. A friend and occasional lover almost a decade ago; the cause of so much comfort and confusion back then, and so much loss afterward. And now, somehow made new to her by time, his surprise reappearance in her life, and the shiny novelty of his real name as she rolled it around in her mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And yet... he was still the man she remembered so completely. For whom she'd longed for years until she was able to situate herself fully in her post-Trenton life. The handsome, complex man who filled her every sense. The man who’d made made the decision to be with her and her family in celebration of a success in his months-long fugitive case. Like an adventurer returned after a quest; a warrior coming home. </span>
</p>
<p><span>Oh, who was she kidding with her Fabio-inspired romance novel thoughts? He was Ranger, he was here with her, and she</span> <span>wanted him: pure and simple. She wanted to feel his arms, still powerful and muscular. His chest, broad and welcoming through the shaped fit of his sweater. His legs, still well defined and powerful under his cargos. His eyes, liquid as she gazed at them now, filled with masculine desire. </span></p>
<p>
  <span>Making a decision, Stephanie nibbled her lip as she pulled her hand from his hair, cupping it around his face. "It's really nice to meet you," she continued her imaginary scene, meeting Ranger anew and feeling suddenly unsure. Her breath was loud in her ears. Her hand felt like it contained all the nerves in her body as she felt the resistance of his stubble against the smooth curve of his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The pleasure's all mine," Ranger answered, his voice silky and slow, his eyes now dark as onyx. He tipped his head and then, with the slowness of forgotten time, he leaned toward her and Stephanie felt his soft, warm lips touch hers. She had forgotten how soft Ranger’s lips could be, how they seemed to fit perfectly on hers like a promise. She leaned into his kiss, suddenly unable to breathe properly as she felt her heart jump from his touch while energy surged in a hot arc all the way through her body. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie closed her eyes and pulled her hand free from his, running it along Ranger’s collarbone before moving to behind his neck. As her fingers played in the soft, warm hairs meshed along Ranger’s collar, her other hand fisted in his shirt where it rested on the solid breadth of his chest. His heart was beating, steady and strong, telling of the intoxicating power of his body coiled under her hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, as the pressure of his lips increased, the warmth of his skin combined with the purely masculine musk that was Ranger. It was like champagne, and she opened her mouth to drink him in. Her tongue traced a slow path along his lips, and then she felt Ranger’s tongue join hers in a slow, warm, tingling dance. Tongues, lips, then tongues again. Oh, she had forgotten how delicious his kisses could be. How the entire world faded to just the heat between them; the fever blooming through her core, making her squirm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt Ranger’s large hand on her shoulder, urging her closer. With a quick, heated breath, she shifted next to him on the sofa, now thigh to thigh. And then, without thinking, she’d straddled him with her outer thigh over his lap, twisting herself so they were connected along the length of his whole body. Not just a hand here, a leg there. Instead, her legs and arms embraced him, while his arms encircled all of her within their strength. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Better,” she heard Ranger murmur as he shifted slightly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” Stephanie breathed as she felt his hand moving in a slow deliberate caress from her ankle, up along the thigh that covered his lap, and finally cupping the round fullness of her ass. Stephanie heard herself moan as she let Ranger’s tongue into her mouth, feeling him explore her as she leaned fully into his body. His hand gripped her possessively and pulled her hips even closer as his kiss became a blaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” she half-moaned as she leaned back to catch a quick breath. Then, remembering, she nipped his lower lip and whispered, “Rick.” She felt him smile as she feathered her lips along his jaw and up to his ear. “Rick,” she whispered again. His hand that had been around her shoulders reached down behind her, around her waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can say my name all night long,” Ranger’s deep voice answered softly as he leaned back slightly. Following the movement of his body as though connected in an ancient, unspoken dance, Stephanie turned herself further into Ranger. As she reached her lips to his, hungry for his kiss, she gasped as she felt his length pushing hard and firm through his heavy pants. Without conscious thought, she pushed her thigh against him, feeling his ragged inhale as their lips reconnected in a deeper intensity.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt Ranger’s hand slide smoothly under the back of her sweater. Her voice bubbled in a quiet laugh; his fingers, warm with desire, were still a bit cooler than Stephanie’s fevered skin as they danced across the soft skin just above her hips.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re laughing,” Ranger’s rough voice teased with a low rumble. “I must be out of practice at this,” he added, as he pressed his lips against the soft skin below Stephanie’s ear.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shivered at the feeling of his lips, so pliant and gentle against her. Then, squirming slightly as his fingers continued their sensuous tickle at her waist, Stephanie pushed again into Ranger’s hardness. His lips were so close to her ear that she heard his breath gasp and catch. It was something that had always delighted her; how a man of Ranger’s exquisite control could lose himself in the sensual moment, expressing so much passion in sound and touch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m just happy Ranger,” she burbled softly. “Plus your fingers tickle just a little.” She shuddered once more, adding, "It kinda makes me shiver."</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled and then splayed his fingers along her back, pressing in a smooth massage. “Can’t have that,” he murmured against her neck. “At least not yet.” Kissing his way back up her neck, Ranger found her mouth, his kiss deep and full, and Stephanie was lost to the sensation. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she thought, </span>
  <em>
    <span>this is it. Don’t stop.</span>
  </em>
  
</p>
<p>
  <span>At which point there was a crash from upstairs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pulled back, dazed from Ranger’s kiss. Meanwhile, unsurprisingly she saw from the quick pattern of Ranger’s eyes to the steady angle of his hands that he was ready to spring into action. Any international terrorists landing on the roof tonight stood no chance.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry Mom,” Mary Alice’s voice called down. “A little mishap with the bathroom shelf, but not to worry.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sorry,” Lisa’s voice echoed, less blithe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie sighed, looking at Ranger in apology, and then glanced toward the stairs. “Do you need help up there?” she called out, pulling her leg back from where it had straddled Ranger and straightening her sweater. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Mary Alice’s voice answered from above. “Totally under control, here. Just a little hand-vac action, and we’ll be good as new and ready for bed. This time for real.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All right,” Stephanie called in answer as the sound of the small vacuum started up. She exhaled in a burst. Reality had reasserted itself, and Stephanie felt like she’d been dropped bodily back into her life with a thud. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stephanie Plum: proud wearer of the “mom pants” in the house for seven years and counting.</span>
  </em>
  <span> She sighed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger smiled at her, his eyebrow winging up in a rueful expression she recognized immediately.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie answered. “We probably shouldn’t do this now.” She looked at her hands, and then back into Ranger’s dark, suddenly expressive eyes. She breathed in with longing. “I... I want to, I really do, but….” her voice trailed off as the vacuum cleaner silenced upstairs, replaced by controlled clattering and murmured, youthful voices.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s fine Steph, I understand,” he replied, his voice soft as he reached over to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. “Probably best anyway.” He tilted his head, with an expression that Stephanie would’ve categorized as shy if she didn’t know Ranger. “To wait, I mean.” His eyes searched her face as though looking for something.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” she agreed. “To wait.” Stephanie gathered herself and then smiled conspiratorially. “After all, Rick, we only just met each other. These things can take time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lips tipped upward. “That they can, Babe.” He shifted, still gazing at her, and then put his hands on his knees as though he was preparing to stand. “Do those </span>
  <em>
    <span>things</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which can take time to figure out, do they maybe include spending another night like last night?” He looked down briefly. “It was nice.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swaying slightly in place, Stephanie felt her spirits doing something like what Mary Alice called a “happy dance” in her chest. “Yeah, last night </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> nice,” she answered softly, watching Ranger’s profile. He was so handsome in repose, half turned away, but she wished she could see his eyes. She’d always known where she stood when he looked at her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then a penny dropped in Stephanie’s mind: was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> nervous? Then another penny dropped: was this maybe a glimmering of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the man within Ranger’s walls? She inhaled in wonder.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that thought, Stephanie reached out her hand to cover the one he had resting on the leg closest to her. “Of course Rick,” she answered fervently, careful to use his real name. “I would really like it if you’d spend the night again.” She didn’t repeat her earlier phone comments on how it had reminded her of some of her favorite nights of feeling safe and protected back in Trenton. After all, they were starting over, and she didn’t know if Ranger had the same emotional reaction to those times. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>What mattered was </span>
  <em>
    <span>now</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And going forward.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then Ranger turned his head to look at her, his expression smooth, yet she saw the simmering depth in his eyes. She squeezed his hand. “Rick,” she paused, then smiled. “You know, I like being able to say your name.” As she saw his lips curve into their own smile, Stephanie added, “Rick, you’re always welcome where I am, and it’s always better when you’re there.” She reached out for the remote and turned off the TV. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s still-thoughtful quiet, Stephanie nibbled her lip. Then she pulled at his hand and started to rise. “Come on, let’s get ready for bed. I can tell you about my day, if you want. I didn’t get a chance, yet, to tell you about the Great Coffee Spill incident.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie glanced sideways at Ranger. Seeing the humor rising in his expression, she continued. “And Rick, I can give you the low-down on the Boston Youth Commission indoor skateboard BPD ‘friend-raiser’ in January that somehow I got signed up for. Or the literacy promotion thing at the library where I get to read </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Cat in the Hat</span>
  </em>
  <span> out-loud and try and dodge the fact that the cat is inciting the kids to delinquency. What do you think?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That all sounds perfect Steph,” he answered with a brief chuckle, standing alongside her. “Just perfect.” </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0027"><h2>27. Greeting the New Day</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 27: Greeting the New Day</b>
</p><p>Ranger slowly brought his hands to rest and focused on reeling his energy inward. Then, deliberately, he began his inhale while raising his arms to his side along with the expansion of his ribcage. <em> Bai-he liang chi </em> , he whispered silently to himself. <em> White Crane Spreads its Wings </em>. </p><p>Even after fifteen-or-so years of T’ai Chi practice, off and on, Ranger still enjoyed the slow majesty of this particular move. It was a moment of calm within the more explosive moves on either side of it. Especially within the Chen style that Ranger most preferred. He felt the way this particular sequence intentionally rewound and shifted his balance, how it changed the direction of his defense, how it began coiling his force for the next move.</p><p>At the start of measured exhale, Ranger smoothly lifted his left hand. The motion was even more gradual than the second hand on a clock, and was balanced by the lifting of his right hand at his side. Then, as he started to inhale, Ranger shifted his balance to one foot. At that moment, Ranger paused, holding the pose. </p><p>Usually he didn’t move quite so slowly through this move or hold this pose. Most often he savored the movement’s reeling upright motion, enjoying the way that its graceful and continuous action hid a deadly self-defense sequence. But this morning the deliberation and pause felt right. A moment of beginner’s discipline within an expert practice. The rooted balance between ground and sky; the attention to life’s energy extending throughout his body: from his bare foot grounded on the lightly textured carpeting, pulsing through his legs and coiled into his groin, up through his core, then out to his hands poised in deadly grace. </p><p><em> Hold form </em> , Ranger repeated in his mind, <em> eyes focus with concentration </em> . Completing the thought, he whispered, <em> yan shen zhu shi </em>. Ranger felt his lip quirk in amusement. When he’d first started learning T’ai Chi, he’d been impatient with his teacher’s incessant repetition of the Chinese phrases after their English translations. After all, Ranger had started T’ai Chi because his Special Forces weapons instructor had said Ranger needed to learn the patience and slow muscle control it imparted.</p><p>So that’s why he’d signed up for the training. He certainly wasn’t interested in any fake “Karate Kid” philosophy that might go along with it. In fact, though he’d quickly seen the benefits to his balance and control, Ranger had thought the way his very non-Oriental instructor had punctuated sequences with Chinese phrases to be pretentious.</p><p>Years later as he found himself doing T’ai Chi in Stephanie’s living room with furniture pushed to the side, Ranger was amused to know that the Chinese cadence had become part of his own internal dialogue. Another reminder that, despite his deep stubbornness, Ranger had managed to get through his youth and survive a dangerous adulthood by sometimes actually listening to others and learning what they had to teach. </p><p>Sometimes.</p><p>After a few moments, Ranger resumed his movement through the White Crane. At the same time, he continued his background scan of the surveillance video he had on fast-forward. He’d briefly seen Stephanie’s Boston skip, Fennelly, in last night’s footage. The man had entered Geary’s Pub shortly before the midnight timestamp. He’d left about a half hour later, wearing the same coat and still with empty hands. So... not much there. </p><p>Ranger was more than halfway through the night’s footage, now, and still hadn’t seen anyone else of interest. Unless, of course, he wanted to count the obviously inebriated kid who’d come over to take a leak behind Ranger’s parked car. Or the occasionally passing SUV that rode low on its axles and, to Ranger’s eyes, was an unmarked law enforcement vehicle.</p><p>Switching to the right hand side of the White Crane, Ranger went through the movement without pausing this time. He’d do a holding posture for this side in a later move. It wasn’t the best approach in a purist sense, but Ranger had long-ago adapted his martial arts and exercise practices to match his own lifestyle. Sometimes explosive; sometimes measured and slow. Sometimes with complete inward attention; sometimes combined with watching video or listening to recorded undercover conversations. </p><p>Ranger knew that the latter habit was especially non-standard. However, he’d realized early in his practice that combining T’ai Chi with those activities worked for him. Whereas exercising and doing weights while reviewing tape was also an option, mixing review with T’ai Chi had actually helped Ranger learn the patience for surveillance. It had also deepened the physical and mental discipline that let him process his surroundings real-time while jumping into action. </p><p>So yeah, he might be a bit loose on the interpretation of “Keep moving forward while in thought.” Yet, like many other areas where Ranger had bent doctrine to conform to the gray areas of his life, it had helped keep him alive.    </p><p>Ranger moved through the next several sequences while the surveillance video continued in fast-forward. First the sequence of <em> Left-Brush-Knee </em> in a fluid release of the energy coiled during the White Crane, then moving into the graceful defense of <em> shou hui pipa </em> , <em> Play the Lute </em>.</p><p>As Ranger slowed into another pause, he spotted Stephanie’s plaid recliner where he’d pushed it against the wall. <em> Frank’s </em> plaid recliner <em> , </em> Ranger corrected himself as he stood motionless, holding the pose. With an ironic twitch of his eyebrow, he remembered his momentary doubt last night that the chair had been empty because it was <em> Darius’ </em> plaid recliner. A place reserved in Stephanie’s home for a man Ranger didn’t know. A man who’d been here, shared stories, grown close to her children, while Ranger had been absent. </p><p>While Ranger had been fucking AWOL. </p><p>With a miniscule shake of his head, Ranger focused on his breathing, holding it briefly and then releasing in a natural but slow cadence. The yin and yang of breath, the flow of energy within his body fitting to the pattern of his thought and the shape of his body. Temporarily suspended power held in the empty spaces between his shaped hands, between his poised feet. Held in reserve but ready to coil from his center.  </p><p><em> The empty stance </em>; only when one is empty of emotions and assumptions is one ready for everything.</p><p>Ranger’s lips twitched as he heard his long-ago teacher’s voice echo in his mind. Ranger imagined that he’d been a difficult student. <em> Screw it: </em> he knew he had been. Even now it sometimes it took everything he had to remain in his calm center. But he had the discipline to do it. He had the will. </p><p>And he had plenty of practice. Face again relaxed, Ranger resumed motion. <em> Reverse Forearm, Drive the Enemy Away </em>. Another move that looked like a retreat but that actually absorbed and redirected the opponent’s energy. Ranger nodded once in approval as he scanned the living room again. </p><p>He’d seen it this way a few mornings now, having rearranged the room for his own needs as he reviewed surveillance tapes. But this morning he saw it in a new light. With the furniture moved out of the way, it was like the moment between exhale and inhale; the moment just before he resumed movement after a pose. Pending the life that would soon return to it. </p><p>The life that had momentarily baffled him last night. Perhaps it was the conversation about Julie over dessert, but as he’d stood in the doorway between the dining and living rooms after dessert, he’d flashed to a memory of arriving late to his daughter Julie’s First Communion party. On the sidewalk to the Martine’s 1930’s-style stucco house in Coral Gables, afternoon was shading to evening. </p><p>In that instant, Ranger had been granted a moment’s clear view through the arched living room windows. Rachel’s and Ron’s families were gathered, seated around the room. In a quick glance, Ranger had seen his ex-wife Rachel’s sisters and their families, along with Rachel’s husband Ron and his father. All eyes on her, in the middle, Julie had stood like royalty. She’d been about Sarah’s age, wearing a white lace dress that contrasted with her tanned skin, a white floral wreath topping her cascade of dark hair. </p><p>As Ranger had watched, Julie had spun slowly in place, her arms stretched out. She’d smiled and, muffled through the glass, Ranger had heard laughter and applause. </p><p>Those long-ago windows, framed by palmettos on either side, had been like a view into a life that would always be out of Ranger’s grasp. So, on seeing Stephanie’s family circled around the TV last night, he’d hesitated. They were talking amongst themselves while watching the hockey game. Mary Alice had made a comment, obviously an inside joke, causing Lisa and then Sarah to smile. </p><p>While Ranger had paused, Stephanie had stood at his side. He’d been able to feel her there, a presence of heat and perfume, breathing quietly. Then she’d bumped him with her shoulder, in the surprisingly familiar way she’d had since she’d first met him, and Ranger’s momentary confusion had evaporated. The room had opened to him, and Stephanie’s daughters made a place for him. </p><p><em> Stephanie </em> had made a place for him. She’d wrapped him in her life all evening, and continued into the dark hours while he’d wrapped her warmth in his arms, drifting between waking and sleeping. With each breath he’d inhaled her. With each subtle shift he’d felt the comfort of her shoulders against his chest, the weight of her side against his hips, the skim of her calves against his shins. Only a couple inches shorter than him, Stephanie had always been the right size. </p><p>It was a slow, sensual dance of sleep that gave Ranger a sense of belonging that he’d never shared with any other woman. If he was in any other woman’s bed, it was for pleasure between the sheets and little more. Of course, he wouldn’t lie: if Stephanie had turned over any time in the night and resumed the kissing that had been interrupted earlier in the living room, Ranger would have met her more than half way. </p><p>He’d forgotten how arousing it was to simply kiss Stephanie. </p><p>Well, all of her was arousing. In fact, he’d needed to pull his hips away from her on more than one occasion last night to maintain decorum. Well hell, to maintain his own control. It wasn’t as though Stephanie was particularly shy. </p><p>Ranger still remembered the nights they’d slept in the same bed with only thin pajamas between them, waking with Stephanie sprawled across his body. From the start, she’d been comfortable with his impossible-to-miss nighttime attraction and his rock-hard morning wood. Actually, the first couple of times he’d woken that way after a relatively chaste night, Ranger had been mildly insulted by her unconcerned acceptance. But then he’d realized it was just another way that Stephanie was unaccountably comfortable with <em> all </em> of him. </p><p>It was part of why Stephanie had become so special to him. And it was true that her physical appeal was still outstandingly strong. However, tempted by possibilities last night, Ranger had decided that, having made the first move earlier on the sofa, any further physical advances needed to be Stephanie’s choice. At least, that was his current theory. He’d been without a partner since before this job started, driving the bachelor’s one-handed stick-shift. He could last a while longer, since it mattered. </p><p>Again, that was his current theory.</p><p>After all, Stephanie had long ago become more than a simple night’s pleasure, but where he was likely to need to leave soon to pursue his case, he didn’t want to give her the wrong impression. In any case, in half-awake periods during the night, they’d held close and simply talked. Stephanie had described events from her day in the way that had always charmed and lulled him. And, in her stream-of-consciousness fashion, she’d strung together a series of stories about Lisa and Sarah first starting school, Mary Alice and her summer jobs, and Angie leaving for college. </p><p>Even half asleep he’d realized that Stephanie was telling stories with humor in her voice; she was sharing happy moments. He could be sad at the realization that she had seven years to fill in, but he could tell that was not her intent. </p><p>The stories had woven into Ranger’s dreams, where his imagination had built whole scenes from her stories. He could easily imagine Lisa’s wide-eyed delight at finding out she could wear regular shoes and also bring her favorite gym shoes to her first day at school. He could almost hear Sarah’s calm explanation to her kindergarten teacher that there was no need to practice printing her name since she already knew cursive.  </p><p>And, woven into a recurring dream of taking Julie to college were new images of Stephanie moving her daughter Angie into her Wellesley dorm last September. From Angie’s well-thumbed picture on the fridge and his memories of Stephanie’s sister Valerie, Ranger could almost see Stephanie’s eldest daughter as she frowned to keep from showing vulnerability. He could almost hear the bantering that Stephanie had described in the car and could practically see the jockeying of boxes and belongings in the Wellesley hallways. </p><p>Ranger felt his lips lift in a brief smile; in that final dream, he’d found himself almost involved in the slapstick events that Stephanie had described. In the midst of it all, he’d imagined himself looking over at Julie, seeing her stunned realization that her serious and organized father moved in such chaotic circles.  </p><p>It had been a long time since he’d woken on the brink of laughter as he’d done this morning. </p><p>And, hearing clattering from the kitchen when he’d finally woken, he realized he’d slept so deeply that he’d again woken up after Stephanie had already risen.  </p><p>Ranger shifted his weight while unrolling through his memory. He turned slowly into the next movement, <em> lan que wei </em> , <em> Grasp the Sparrow’s Tail </em>. Ward off, roll back, press, then push. </p><p>In his mind’s eye, he could still see the activity that had filled this room this morning, as Stephanie and her girls got ready to leave for work and school. Sipping a cup of tea, he’d leaned against the wall out of the way of the morning action, watching. He’d been amused by Mary Alice’s morning energy, in contrast to Sarah’s deliberation, Lisa’s gentle befuddlement, and Stephanie’s obvious need for coffee to start her day. The latter, of course, was no surprise to Ranger.  </p><p>Up and down the stairs, footsteps had clattered as Stephanie’s daughters had collected what they needed for the day. Voices had called out with obviously familiar reminders. And, true to form, Stephanie and her family had revealed more than their immediate conversation and plans to Ranger’s observant ears. Their words had continued to fill in the background that Ranger was rapidly assembling. And now, after they’d left for the day, he could see their shadows. The room still breathed with them. </p><p><em> Yu nu chuan shuo, Working the Loom </em>. Ranger shifted his gaze while remembering his teacher’s assertion that this move was a microcosm of T’ai Chi’s basic foundation. A complex move, it reeled energy to one’s center through the movement of the arms, while circling movement took the body outward on a gradual rotation. Four directions; four seasons; one earth at the center. Attention to all points on the compass while one hand blocks, one hand strikes. At the end, the weaving motion changes the direction of the remaining moves. </p><p>Ranger idly remembered that the full name of this move was <em> The Fair Lady Works the Shuttles. </em> With that, he envisioned Stephanie working through this movement with him, at his side. He had been telling the truth when he’d said he’d enjoy doing T’ai Chi with her. Ranger knew several forms, including the short 24-move form that it was likely Stephanie had learned. Though Ranger lately practiced T’ai Chi alone, he remembered the pleasure of working through the moves with others. The shared energy; a conversation of bodies without words.</p><p>That depended, of course, on whether she was ready to resume. If enough time had passed for her since she’d apparently learned T’ai Chi from her ex-boyfriend. Interestingly, Ranger had only found one picture of the man in the apartment, thus far. </p><p>Glancing at the surveillance video as his turn took him in that direction again, Ranger smoothed his expression. He realized that, through her stories over the few days and nights, Stephanie had been filling in points of detail over the past seven years, starting a map of how she’d gone from the lively yet unsure beauty he’d known to become the vibrant woman he’d met again this past week. </p><p>And by her casual and only occasional references to men in her stories, she was perhaps making him aware that they were peripheral figures from her perspective. Because, with Stephanie, emotions were part of the narrative. He’d heard enough references to Dickie Orr in the past, or even to Joe. That fire was absent. </p><p>As Ranger watched the surveillance footage end, Ranger moved into the final sequences. <em> Pull Needle from Sea Bottom, Fan through the Back, Turn, Parry and Punch </em>. Ranger smiled as he moved, enjoying the battle encoded in the graceful moves. Establish position, pull the opponent into your territory. Absorb your opponent’s energy then ward off with explosive movement. </p><p>All the classics.</p><p>Ranger nodded to himself, then turned his mind toward tactical considerations. Ranger’s FBI contact, Alex Garcia, was on East Coast time, same as Ranger. He should be at work now, and might have an update on the Figueroa boys. Though it was out of his hands, now, Ranger knew he wouldn’t feel entirely comfortable until he knew they were safe. In addition, calling Alex might turn up some new intel. It was worth a call.</p><p>With that thought, he wondered how much further he could ask Alex for help. Ranger trusted the man, but had always had a rocky relationship with the Feebs. Beyond that, he was accustomed to firewalling as many aspects of his work as possible, partitioning work and information so that nobody but him knew the full story. </p><p>It was ironic, Ranger grimaced: he used the same tactics that the most hardened of his targets used to hide their activities. He could understand why his handlers rarely trusted him, even though they relied on him to do some of their dirty work. And the cops had never trusted him.</p><p>Which gave Ranger a moment of pause. Feeling his eyebrow lift, he considered that Joe Morelli probably still didn’t particularly like Ranger. Yet, Morelli was continuing to help him. In fact, the Trenton detective had actually passed Ranger a contact in Homeland Security during their brief conversation last night. He’d always respected Morelli’s abilities in his role as a cop; perhaps Morelli felt something similar about Ranger. </p><p>While he’d been calling in favors as this case had progressed, Ranger had begun to realize that <em> trust </em> was more important than he’d been willing to consider for the past several years. It was more complex. And despite Ranger having forcefully cultivated his professional independence after Rangeman, it seemed that trust and the lattice of human relationships were potentially what was going to enable him to solve this case. </p><p>It had already given him the chance to stay with Stephanie, in her home, with her family. </p><p>Ranger crossed his hands, then extended them in the T’ai Chi closing move. He’d have to shelve his musings for now and plan out the day. He’d already started a list of phone calls he needed to make. In addition, he’d send Gerry over to Geary’s Pub later today, to plumb for rumors that Ranger’s surveillance videos wouldn’t be able to pick up. Ranger would also send Gerry to check on Djaleo’s dishwashing cousin; if the man was still around Gerry could pass along a hint that danger might be coming. </p><p>Meanwhile, Ranger would pick back up on Figueroa's trail. He’d been getting glimmerings over the past few days. Now, having removed the man’s sons from their safe house, Ranger was sure that he’d disrupted Figueroa’s patterns enough that Ranger might detect him.  </p><p>Finished, Ranger turned off the video, returned the TV to its usual configuration, and dragged the room’s furnishings back to their normal positions. As he returned the plaid recliner, Ranger felt a twinge of conscience. He’d long ago learned that Stephanie was incapable of hiding things when she was on the last verge of sleep, and she tended not to remember what was said. </p><p>Which is why Ranger had picked that exact moment, last night, to verify that Stephanie’s neighbor Darius didn’t have a special chair in her living room. And neither did any man, other than her father.</p><p>Ranger straightened and headed into the kitchen. He could tell himself that he was just trying to fill in more of the missing spaces in Stephanie’s life, or that he was just checking into her acquaintances to ensure her safety. But, that was bullshit, and he knew it. </p><p>And Stephanie would know it, too, if she did happen to remember that discussion. Ranger snorted: his Babe would figure him out in an instant and wouldn’t be afraid to tell him. If he were a lesser man, Ranger might find that disconcerting, or even threatening. Instead, Ranger smiled: that was part of what made Stephanie special.  </p><p>Speaking of Stephanie… Ranger looked down in mild bafflement at the Eggbeaters box he’d just found in the refrigerator. Egg whites. Healthy food. With a moment’s consideration, he turned the container and checked the freshness date. Still a month to go. Well, Ranger thought with amusement, Stephanie was still able to surprise him.</p><p>Not long afterward, as he sat down at the kitchen table with his scrambled egg whites and an apple, Ranger recalled last night’s private conversation with Morelli at this same table. </p><p>Ranger had been surprised at the man’s insight; Morelli was actually, unexpectedly right about more than a few things. And, Ranger mused with an ironic lift to his lips, the fact that Stephanie hadn’t spent the rest of the evening trying to find out what the two men had discussed went a far way to proving one of Morelli’s central points, which was that Stephanie Plum had changed over the years. </p><p>Ranger shook his head; the conversation hadn’t started well. He could almost hear Morelli’s sarcastic voice again saying, “Okay, Ranger, I only have a few minutes here, so first let me say how nice it was to <em> not </em> see you this October.” </p><p>“Feeling’s mutual,” Ranger had responded.</p><p>“Seriously,” Morelli had continued as though Ranger hadn’t spoken. “I have enough trouble with bailing out half of my relatives from the drunk tank after the Garibaldi Social Club’s Columbus Day dinner. So the last thing I need is to deal with you busting up the vice district in the same week.”</p><p>Ranger had sucked in his lips. In fairness, he did remember a few times over the past several years that Morelli had managed to help Ranger dodge lock-up after a brawl. The first time, if Ranger recalled correctly, was a few months after he’d returned from his final mission, finding himself even more at odds with his life at Rangeman than before he’d left. And, Ranger admitted privately, there had been no Stephanie anymore to lighten his soul on the nights that had gotten a bit too dark.   </p><p>“I hear what you’re saying,” Ranger replied to Morelli, realizing it was time to suck it up. “I owe you.” In light of the earlier discussion, Ranger suddenly recalled that Morelli had recruited Hal as reluctant backup muscle to help settle that first fight seven years ago. Probably he owed the man an apology for that, also.</p><p>“Sure,” Morelli had answered. “And maybe don’t thank me yet,” he’d added sardonically. </p><p>Ranger had waited, head tipped, having worked with the Trenton detective often enough to know that the man was gathering his thoughts. </p><p>Finally Morelli said, “So Ranger, it's not like we're buddies or anything, and I'm probably going to find black-clad ninjas in my bathroom tonight just for saying this.” Morelli cleared his throat. “But I probably know you well enough to figure out some stuff.” </p><p>Ranger had felt his eyebrow wing up while Morelli resumed. “I’ve dug around over the years and know you still contract for government agencies. So when I have to clean up after a gang sweep that has your signature, or avoid pursuing your involvement in a blown-up warehouse that was formerly filled with weapons… well, I get it.” </p><p>Morelli’s exhale had been the conversational version of a dead-lifter’s grunt. “The thing is Ranger,” he’d continued, “it’s getting difficult for me to explain away that your takedowns tend to end in fights in October. I could say that you just have a hang-up against Columbus Day. But you and I both know <em> that’s </em> not the date in October you’re fighting with.”</p><p>“Don’t presume,” Ranger had replied in a soft, dangerous voice. </p><p>“Oh, give it a break Ranger,” Morelli had snapped back. “I don’t care what you tell me, or what you tell yourself. Just don’t think I’m too stupid to know when Stephanie’s birthday is.” </p><p>Ranger had glowered at the phone, while Morelli continued more quietly. “Look Ranger, I’ve never told Steph that you show up in Trenton on jobs, or that you come to town on dates like her birthday when she might be here visiting. And I haven’t told her that you sometimes bust up bars or gang hideouts in October. Maybe I should have, but I figured you’d reach out to her if you wanted. And I wasn’t going to get in the middle of that.” </p><p>“Yeah, I should have been in touch with her before now,” Ranger had growled in reply. “Not your responsibility.” </p><p>“And yeah, I know it's none of my business either,” Morelli cut in, with a characteristically ironic tone. “You're about to tell me that, so you can save the step.” Morelli paused a beat, then added, “However, just a suggestion: I think Stephanie would prefer chocolates, or maybe a card, instead of having you bust up the local branch of the Hells Angels as a thoughtful gesture on her behalf.” Morelli snorted audibly over the line. “Though I’ll admit that Vice would’ve sent <em> you </em> a thank you card and some flowers for that one, if they’d known how to find you.”</p><p>Despite himself, Ranger had felt his lips twitch in amusement at Morelli’s image. He well remembered the almost-riot six years ago, which the Trenton detective had just referenced. Ranger hadn’t planned to fight that time; he’d simply managed to get spectacularly, uncharacteristically drunk in a rough, out-of-the-way bar. Nothing else to do on his wasted trip to Trenton, he’d convinced himself, since Rangeman had been sold and Stephanie hadn’t returned home for her birthday as Ranger had confidently predicted. </p><p>Though typically a taciturn drunk, Ranger had harbored a sneaking suspicion that he’d confided more to the cop that night than he’d intended, based on a few hazy memories. Apparently he’d been right about that, Ranger acknowledged ruefully. </p><p>Meanwhile, more quietly, the cop had continued talking. “In our time, we both hurt Steph in our own pig-headed ways. You and I both know that. But, Ranger, what’s past is past. And, I have no doubt that Stephanie already forgave you before you even said a word, because that's the kind of person she is. Stephanie tends to find the best part of a person and looks for ways they live up to her ideal.” </p><p>“That she does,” Ranger had concurred, pensively.</p><p>“And, though I don’t know why, she’s always thought highly of you. I’m sure she still does. But, Ranger, just remember that she’s not the same person anymore.”</p><p>“Not hearing anything I don’t know.” </p><p>“Yeah well get a Q-tip, clear that earwax out, and start listening,” Morelli’s voice had replied waspishly over the phone. “What you should know, Ranger, is that she doesn’t <em> need </em> you now.”</p><p>“Warning me away?” Ranger’s voice had dipped dangerously low. </p><p>“No Ranger, you’re stuck in old history,” Morelli had huffed. “What I’m <em> warning </em> you is that Steph doesn’t need you—or me either—not the way she used to. She’s not that same recently-fired, twenty-something divorcee who needed men in her life to tell her that she’s important or special. That she’s still attractive even if that moron, the Dickless Orr, couldn’t figure it out. That she’s gifted, even though her sister was always the golden child in the family.” </p><p>Morelli’s finger drumming on the phone had become audible. “Ranger, time makes even stone-cold idiots like you and me wiser. And Stephanie…. Well, she’s had to grow up a lot since you left Trenton. She has four daughters depending on her now. Even more, she has a steady job where she helps people. She’s already got everything she needs to <em> know </em> she’s important. So she doesn’t need big <em> jamokes </em> like us to fluff her ego anymore.”</p><p>“I always knew you underestimated her, Morelli.” </p><p>“No,” Morelli’s voice had replied. “But if you don't pay attention, you're about to.”</p><p>“Enlighten me.”  </p><p>“It’s simple, Ranger. Right now, you have a second chance with Stephanie, if you want it,” Morelli had answered quietly. “I’m pretty sure you care about her. And I know that Steph cares about you. In fact, for whatever reason, I think she’s been comparing other men with you for years, and finding them wanting. But relationships don’t short-circuit her brain anymore. Or, more pointedly, sex doesn’t make her ignore when men are being assholes.”</p><p>Ranger had felt himself tense at that—and if Morelli had been in the room Ranger was sure he would have done some damage—but Morelli had continued speaking. </p><p>“Okay Ranger, I can feel you glaring at me from here. But believe me: if you want something <em> real </em> with Stephanie, you’re going to have to show her. And, don’t try your old ‘Man of Mystery’ routine on her now, where you charm her and then go all distant, or disappear… because, yeah, I know about that.”</p><p>Ranger had found himself looking at Stephanie’s phone to end the call, when Morelli’s voice had resumed, halting Ranger’s motion. </p><p>“So Ranger, when I say she doesn’t <em> need </em> you, it means that if she’s with you it’s because she <em> wants </em> and <em> chooses </em> to have you in her life. But, if you mess with her emotions, or make her doubt her faith in you, she’ll be the one who walks away this time. I’ve seen her do it. She’d probably try to stay friends because she just does that. But I can guarantee she won’t try a relationship with you more than once.”</p><p>“You’ve seen her do this. So, she walked away from <em> you </em>?”</p><p>“Not really,” Morelli had answered, and Ranger found himself intrigued at how calm the man’s voice was despite Ranger’s mild attempt to bait him. But then, Ranger had always been impressed that Morelli never acted intimidated by Ranger, even when out-gunned. Actually and metaphorically. </p><p>“No,” the voice had continued without pause over the phone. “Steph and I just both figured out, at around the same time, that being attracted to each other wasn’t enough to build a life on.” Morelli paused. “I’ll leave it for her to tell you details when she’s ready, but I’ve seen it in the relationships she’s had over the past five years or so.” Morelli paused, his voice drifting toward humor. “The woman she is now is a lot better at communicating and doesn’t run from commitment the way she did. But she’ll still close the door on you if you don’t meet her halfway. And, if that happens, the next time you visit Boston, you won’t be camped out in her house with her kids.” </p><p>After a pause, Ranger had said, “Fair enough, Joe. I hear what you’re saying.” Pursing his lips, Ranger forced himself to add, “Thank you for being honest.” </p><p>“Yeah,” the cop had chuckled darkly. “Honest or foolhardy; it’s a fine dividing line.... But listen, one more thing before I have to go and rule the TPD card game.”</p><p>“Ah, good to know that Hal still needs to work on his poker face.”</p><p>“Thanks for the ringing endorsement of my poker playing, Ranger. But if you make me a happy man and swear to stay out of Trenton <em> next </em> October, I promise I won’t tell Hal you said that.”</p><p>Then Morelli’s voice had turned serious. ”Mañoso, one professional to another, you and I both know that the case you’re on stinks like last week’s fish. I know you have your own contacts. But, if you need someone outside of your usual Rolodex, I worked a national security situation last year with Ralph Honda from Homeland. Of course, I have no idea where his office is—if I knew they’d have to kill me, and all that crap—but he works East Coast internal corruption cases and is a straight arrow. I’ll text you his contact information.” </p><p>The call had ended quickly after that. And, finished with the memory, Ranger realized he had also finished with breakfast. Pushing back from the table, Ranger took his dishes to the sink, piled them into the dishwasher, and headed back to pull together clothes, shower, and start the day. </p><p>Entering the den where he’d slept his first few nights here, Ranger gazed at the room, seeing his few items mingled with Stephanie’s casual, welcoming decor. He looked at the bed, the blankets tucked in with taut military corners, undisturbed by his restless sleep for a couple of nights. </p><p>Then he grabbed his clothes from the dresser and headed to the shower. Putting his music player on the counter as he clicked play, Ranger heard the sounds of an older Carlos Vives song that he particularly liked: <em> Bailar Contigo </em>; Dance with You. </p><p>Ranger smiled, moving slightly to the music as he set out his shaving kit and waited for the shower to heat. He followed along in his head; <em> Abrazados, es comprender; eres la luz en mi camino. </em>Embracing, it’s understood: you are the light on my path. </p><p>Last night, Morelli had said to “play it real” with Stephanie. Well, that’s exactly what Ranger planned to keep doing. Ranger nodded to himself and realized that the song had wrapped around again to the bridge. The singer’s exuberant, mature voice swelled with enjoyment: <em> Bailar contigo; es la certeza de cumplir con mi destino. </em> Dancing with you; it’s the certainty of meeting my destiny. </p><p>Ranger smiled again, thinking of what it would be like to dance with Stephanie to this song, slow and close. Stepping into the shower, his smile broadened: this morning he’d learned that Stephanie’s daughters would be staying all weekend at the Kloughns. </p><p>Just because he was leaving the next move to Stephanie didn’t mean he couldn’t provide a few opportunities for that next move to happen. He’d always warned Stephanie that he was an opportunist.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em> To be continued... </em>
</p><hr/><p><em> Author’s Notes: </em> First, thanks to Carlos Vives for performing <em> Bailar Contigo </em> in concert, back in October. I immediately envisioned Ranger recognizing himself in the song’s spirited romance. <br/><br/>Second, some T’ai Chi aficionados might not realize that Chen style has a complex, specifically martial version where one alternates very slow movement with explosive sequences. As my husband has helped me to see, all T’ai Chi movement can be understood as a series of blocks and attacks if you know how to look. Finally, those of you who might know T’ai Chi may realize that, in describing Ranger’s practice, I changed the order of some moves in the Chen long form, and freelanced on some of the inner philosophy. For the purposes of this story, please assume that this is the way that Ranger learned from his <em> cifu </em> or teacher. (In my imagination, Ranger’s <em> cifu </em>was an expert in the martial arts approach to T’ai Chi who formerly trained agents in the Mossad. Don’t know where that image came from, but there it is.)</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0028"><h2>28. Back to Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 28: Back to Work</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger climbed up into his truck, wondering once again about the uncanny, perfectly-timed nexus of coincidence that had always centered on Stephanie. He had been just about to leave Franklin Park a half hour ago, having spoken to the various eyes-on-the-street he'd cultivated in this neighborhood after several different sightings had placed his target Figueroa in this neighborhood over the past week. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d spoken to the street musician and to the various nondescript smokers whose outdoor habit gave them a familiarity with normal traffic in the neighborhood. The only one who had seen someone resembling Figueroa was the bored elderly man who sold newspapers next to the bus stop.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger thought he’d hit paydirt when the wrinkled, hunched vendor had recounted seeing a man like the one in Ranger’s photo early this morning. The man who looked like Figueroa had shown up slightly before the daily business commute began and bought a racing sheet. Additionally, and to the newspaper seller’s obvious annoyance, the customer who was likely Figueroa had purchased a half-price, day-old New York Post even though stacks of today’s papers were clearly available. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After that, though, the newspaper seller could only say that the man from Ranger’s picture had left in a cab. The elderly newspaperman hadn't remembered the company or the plate. Just that it was a Boston taxi and had made a U-turn to head south down Blue Hill Avenue, further away from downtown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was the type of dead-end Ranger faced on a daily basis while on a job. Which was why Stephanie’s call minutes afterward had been… astonishing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” she’d said hurriedly, obviously calling from outside given the background noise, “I mean Rick, hi,” she’d amended, her voice suddenly soft with a shy smile that he’d actually been able to hear. “Rick, I’m calling because my friend ’Fredo’s cousin Mateo thinks he saw your guy Figueroa this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While Ranger had been unspooling the social connections that Stephanie had just telegraphed, she’d explained, “Mateo, he’s the one who has the money exchange on Columbia Road right outside of Franklin Park. He said the guy who sounded like Figueroa came in this morning and cashed another big check. He told ’Fredo that you could stop by.” She’d then texted Mateo’s address, which was only a few blocks away. Ranger had then turned around and retraced his steps to spend a half hour with Mateo. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Walking into the hole-in-the-wall store whose name—</span>
  <em>
    <span>Columbia Avenue Cash Express, Forex, and Western Union</span>
  </em>
  <span>—was almost too long to fit on the sign over the counter, Ranger had known immediately who was Mateo. Stockier than his cousin Wilfredo, Mateo had the same square jaw and muscular build. More tellingly, like his cousin, the store owner’s obsidian eyes had assessed Ranger with an air of competent assurance and an undertone of menace that Ranger had immediately recognized. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It wasn’t surprising, after all, that a man who ran a check cashing service in a rough neighborhood would be as tough as his cousin the pawnshop owner. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After introductions, Mateo had quickly gotten down to business. First, of course, he’d called another employee, who was even larger and more menacing than Mateo, to the customer service window. Then, Mateo had buzzed Ranger into the front office area. With amusement, Ranger had noted that Mateo’s hulking, tattooed employee spent about half his time watching Ranger, in between actually dealing with customers. Mateo was no fool.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mateo had shown him the surveillance footage from this morning, confirming that Figueroa had indeed been the customer today and a few days prior. Of course, Mateo knew Figueroa as “Mr. Pedro Jones,” which even Mateo had found amusing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mateo had also shown Ranger the front and back image of the check that Figueroa had cashed, noting that it was the same routing number as before. Which told Ranger that, if the money came from a tainted source, the man cashing the check held someone else’s checkbook. If Figueroa was behind what was going on, surely he’d have the sophistication to vary the distinctive bank information that ultimately might be used to trace the money’s source.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mateo had cautioned that, even though the check routing number was unusual, it still wasn't on any watch list or in the Patriot Act interdiction database. So Mateo had no cause to flag it. And, really, no obvious way to report it since the check had cashed and the person cashing it had what seemed to be valid IDs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had nodded, thanking Mateo for his help, and had begun fastening his coat to leave. At which point Mateo had turned his back to his employee and the customers still in the shop, gazing pointedly at Ranger. Switching from English to Spanish, Mateo had quietly said, “You know, here is something people don’t understand. Check cashing is a little like the confessional at church.” </span>
</p>
<p><span>Mateo had chuckled at Ranger’s hard, distancing expression. “Yes, both my cousin and my abuelita told me you speak Spanish. But I could also tell from the way you half-listened to that Colombian</span> <span>customer who just left.” Mateo shrugged. “In my line of business, I have to pay attention to these things.” </span></p>
<p>
  <span>“Fair enough,” Ranger had answered, matching his Puerto Rican inflection to Mateo’s accent.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Nodding, Mateo continued, “What I mean is… people who come here to cash checks have a story to tell. Otherwise they’d go to a bank or an ATM where they take a smaller percentage off each transaction. Most of the time they’re little reasons. Maybe they are currently homeless so don’t have a street address for the bank application, or they don’t want their spouse to know about some business they got on the side, or they just don’t trust banks. I’ve heard hundreds of reasons,” he explained. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Occasionally,” Mateo continued in his quiet, conversational tone, “they tell us directly while we’re cashing their check, like to a priest for absolution,” Mateo had explained. “Mostly, though, people think we can’t hear through that thick bullet-proof acrylic wall we got in front of the counters. So they talk on the phone while they’re in line, argue with each other, or whatever.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it,” Ranger had said, putting on his knit cap as a not-terribly-subtle indication that he was ready to leave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Mateo had smirked. “You speak </span>
  <em>
    <span>el idioma</span>
  </em>
  <span> like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>boriqua</span>
  </em>
  <span> from back home in Puerto Rico, but you are impatient like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>norteamericano</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Very well. The point is that, like a priest hearing private confessions, we in the check cashing business disregard most of what people reveal about themselves as private unless it’s something we’re legally required to report.” He paused, then appended offhand, “Or, of course, if it sounds like they’re about to try robbing us. In which case, they’re toast.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mateo snorted, then crossed his muscular arms. “Today though, for my cousin’s friend </span>
  <em>
    <span>La Ciruelita Linda</span>
  </em>
  <span>, the lovely Miss Plum, I listened to the man who cashed those checks that interest you so much. Our very Brazilian Mr. Jones. As you could tell from the surveillance video, he didn’t say anything at the check cashing window. But I did overhear his side of a somewhat lively phone conversation.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You speak Portuguese?” Ranger asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, he spoke English. So whoever he was talking to didn’t speak Portuguese, in case that’s interesting to know. Also, he was obviously pissed off, so probably not as careful as he might have been.“ </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Ranger replied, leaning back against the wall, gloves held loosely in his hand. “What did he say?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, first off, he sounded really angry at his wife; something about how she’d had some uptight government assholes take away his kids and something about how he’d find the babysitters and make them pay for it. Which is the kind of shit guys say when there’s nothing they can do about it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mateo had shrugged. “Also our Mr. Jones said there was a change of plans. The person on the phone should pick up something at Codman Square down in Dorchester. Then they should meet at the other guy’s place. I didn’t catch where, but it was a big deal because apparently they just met last night and weren’t supposed to meet again for a week. And never at the other guy’s place.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had nodded, noting that Mateo’s burly employee was still glancing over periodically to check on them. Ranger had a sudden image of working with Tank, who always knew to keep an observant and helpfully intimidating eye on the action whenever Ranger had gone into a dangerous meeting. He’d felt his lip pull sardonically at the memory.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mateo had finished up, saying, “And then, as Mr. Jones was leaving, he started talking in some stupid code about how they had to wait for packages to be delivered early next week before they could move. Which hopefully means something to you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranger had answered, pushing himself away from the wall. “I have some ideas about what that was about.” Ranger had then thanked Mateo and, with a raised brow and knowing smile, complimented the business owner on his attentive staff. Mateo had smiled back with a shark’s satisfaction. He was clearly quite aware of Ranger’s meaning.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And there was another dangerous man in the circle of Stephanie’s trust. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting in the comfort of his truck, as he quickly reviewed what he’d learned in talking with Mateo, Ranger pondered. In Trenton, he’d thought that Stephanie was simply trusting and outstandingly lucky. But, experience had made him doubt that simplistic conclusion. Perhaps Stephanie was simply able to read through certain types of defenses to find what was best in some people. Or, Ranger blinked, perhaps the gift of her confidence was a lure that called to people’s deeper, less tainted selves. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shook his head. It could take a lifetime to solve the paradox that was Stephanie. Realizing that he was okay with that thought, that he actually welcomed it, Ranger felt himself smile. Maybe crossing paths with Stephanie again, at this point in his life after he’d laid rest to other distractions, was another of those uncanny, perfectly-timed coincidences that centered on Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the current moment, though, Ranger needed to get back to business. With that thought, Ranger pulled out the list of apartments that Isaiah the dishwasher had provided yesterday. The apartments that the young man had rented while thinking he was helping some undocumented families that his cousin Djaleo knew. Ranger pursed his lips; at some level Isaiah must have known it was a dodgy venture. But, to someone pulling in dishwasher money to feed his family, the cash must have seemed worth it at the time. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling out his phone, Ranger looked at the map of Codman Square and then nodded. One of the addresses was indeed in that neighborhood. He squinted slightly as he mapped the route, then put aside his phone, having memorized the map and having spotted a few likely places to park. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled over his bag of disguises and pulled out a different hat and jacket, and a pair of horn-rimmed glasses he’d switch into when he got closer to the site. Ranger inhaled slowly, remembering his Special Ops training in disguise and misdirection. It still surprised him that he could alter how people reacted to him through simple clothing changes, posture adjustments, cosmetics, and voice modulation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They’d remember the older vagrant, the young tough or—more often these days—the nondescript middle-aged man who’d briefly crossed their paths. But not Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had just started the ignition when his phone rang. He looked at the display on his dashboard. It was Alex Garcia from the FBI. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Carlos here,” Ranger answered the call, using the name that he’d used as a teen in Miami at his aristocratic Abuela Mañoso’s insistence. The name by which Alex had always known him. As he put on his aviators, Ranger wondered fleetingly if Alex had multiple names for his identities, similar to Ranger. Another Cuban-American on the fringes of </span>
  <em>
    <span>La Comunidad</span>
  </em>
  <span> of Miami’s insular elite based on cultural background; a Cuban who spoke </span>
  <em>
    <span>el idioma cubano</span>
  </em>
  <span> like he’d been born in Havana and could switch on dime into unaccented English; a former field agent and now FBI Bureau Chief Garcia… yeah, it was possible.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good morning,” Alex’s brisk voice interrupted Ranger’s thoughts. “Sorry I didn’t pick up your earlier call, Carlos. But, I just got out of this morning’s East Coast briefing. An extra long one today.” Alex cleared his throat, then audibly sipped something. Ranger’s eyebrow twitched upward, knowingly. Alex had been a heavy coffee drinker even as a teen. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not an unusual habit in Little Havana; it reminded Ranger of his eldest sister Celia’s theory that Cubans had been able to leave the enclave of the Caribbean only after stores in northern states had started selling </span>
  <em>
    <span>Café Bustelo</span>
  </em>
  <span> as a standard coffee brand; rich Cuban flavor right next to its milder cousins, Folgers and Maxwell House. Amused, Ranger found himself reaching for his own coffee, which unfortunately was store-bought, but at least had the twin virtues of being dark roast and still warm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood,” Ranger answered Alex as he set his cup back down on the truck’s center console and began angling his truck into traffic. Without conscious thought, Ranger flicked his eyes left and right to his truck’s side mirrors. “Anything interesting come up?” Ranger asked Alex in a deliberately offhand tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Alex drawled. “Well that really depends on what you call interesting, I guess. But, yeah, one of my colleagues reported on the successful retrieval of a couple of boys yesterday afternoon up in the Boston office, with the help of an independent contractor.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Ranger’s lip quirked upward as he glanced in the rear-view mirror. “Independent contractor. I take it that ‘recovery agent’ or ‘bounty hunter’ didn’t have sufficient cachet for the paperwork?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex barked out a laugh on the other end of the call. “Yeah, something like that.” Alex took another sip, then added, “Though I guess Agent Solis was sufficiently impressed by the professionalism of the so-called ‘Independent Contractor’ that she felt the elevated title was warranted.” </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled quietly in response as Alex continued. “In fact, if that contractor were based in the Boston area, he might find himself getting calls from Solis. She’s by-the-book, but not afraid to work across agency lines or to hire outside contractors. One of my finest protégées, if I say so myself.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know,” Ranger replied as he spotted a break in traffic and turned, starting his box pattern to dodge potential tails. “So, are the boys okay?” Ranger asked while he continued eyeing traffic.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, a little underfed but otherwise in good shape. They’re more confused than anything. It’s typical with parental abductions; the kids don’t know much. And most of what they do is stuff that social workers care about; not much that we can use. But the local office is surveilling the building where the boys were found to see if they can snare the missing father.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself; Alex was warning Ranger that he’d be spotted if he went back to the apartment for further recon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, the usual process then?” Ranger asked, turning down a side street that angled generally in the direction he was going.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah mostly,” Alex answered. “I’m sure the forensics team has collected what they could, and the video crew will have hours of nothing much recorded starting last night and going for days. Unless, of course, their father is stupid, which he doesn’t seem to have been. He’s on the watch list, but parental abductions are a bit low on the priority ladder at the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Ranger acknowledged noncommittally. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Though, as we discussed last week, sometimes these guys get caught in other nets. If they’re connected, for example, to narcotics or weapons. Something that’s cross-agency. Which it sounds like the boys’ father might be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranger answered, his face as expressionless as his voice. “You have what I know, on that front.” Of course, Ranger admitted to himself, that wasn’t quite true. Ranger had shared the background on his target Figueroa’s travel, and what Ranger suspected based on the associations—and hardware— the man had picked up as he’d traveled across state lines. But, much of what Ranger knew at this point was still too circumstantial for the FBI, or potentially incriminated either himself or someone like Isaiah, the hapless dishwasher he’d interrogated yesterday. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even more ominously, Ranger still wasn’t sure why his initial contact, Tino Clark of the FBI, had gone silent. Any information on that front might put Alex Garcia in harm’s way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex probably was also quite aware that he hadn’t heard everything Ranger could possibly tell him. Despite that, Alex continued talking. “So, based on what’s evident, the boys’ situation is still classified as parental abduction, with all the usual protocols. After they finish with questioning and social services gives the okay, the kids will travel with a U.S. Marshal on a flight down to San Juan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lips pursed as he mentally reviewed the security professionals he might be able to independently engage in Puerto Rico. “What happens to the boys then,” Ranger asked, “after they get back home?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s actually interesting,” Alex replied after another audible sip of coffee. “Turns out there’s some issue with the mother’s paperwork. Something about her green card, since she was born in Algeria and her husband’s status is in question. I imagine,” Alex deadpanned, “that the so-called independent contractor who provided the tip no-doubt knows more about it than we do.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled, eyebrow raised in quiet humor, as Alex cleared his throat. “In any case, we’ll be able to work out her situation in the long term. But short term it means there’s good reason to have her and her sons in a private custody situation.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger translated that as: the FBI had the mother in protective custody in a safe house for the time being. And, with an amused exhale, Ranger agreed privately that, yes, the independent contractor did know a bit more about Safiyya Figueroa’s paperwork. And he also knew that there truly wasn’t any issue about its validity. So having given Alex’s contacts an excuse to look into it shouldn’t be a long-term problem for the boys or their mother. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks Alex,” Ranger replied, knowing that Alex would understand that Ranger was thanking him for more than the surface information he’d provided. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>No pasa nada</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Alex replied, tacitly acknowledging their shared Cuban background. And probably the basis for Alex’s trust. “It’s not a problem, Carlos. You helped us recover two kids whose only sin in this world is to have a bad father. So I’m glad you called it in.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, even though he knew Alex couldn’t see him. Then, as Ranger slowed for a red light and briefly diverted his attention momentarily to the traffic around him, Alex continued. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course, Carlos,” Alex said, his voice slightly tinged with irony, “I’m not quite sure why you decided to phone me out of the blue to get this case moving. But, in case you’re interested, there’s a rumor that Internal Investigations may send someone down to the Puerto Rico office to explore how this case fell through the cracks, and if there are any others.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Understood,” Ranger replied, aware that Alex was warning him that whatever bureaucratic problem Ranger had been skirting—that he had tried to avoid through calling Alex directly—might start rolling his way in the near future.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, figured you’d know the drill.” Alex replied blandly. “Of course, my experience is that these things move slowly. And, when possible, they get resolved quietly within the agency.” There was a sound in the background, like the squeak of an old office chair. “So Carlos, I need to get back to the office. But, so you know, I was telling the truth earlier; Agent Solis was impressed. There might be money on that table for someone looking for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Appreciate the tip,” Ranger replied, “and the help.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Alex grunted affirmatively and then ended the call. Ranger smiled as he spotted a parking place about a block from the street for which he was looking. Alex was a man who knew how to use the phone like a pro. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Less than five minutes later, Ranger was stepping slowly along the light slush that clung gelatinously to the shaded sidewalk. As he circled toward the Codman Square address that Isaiah the dishwasher had provided, Ranger catalogued his surroundings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though the day was bright today, the neglected look of the block gave the neighborhood a patina of gray. The characteristic wood-sided, three-storey apartment buildings had probably been decent working-class housing in the 1940s, but time had weathered the paint and slivered off wood around window frames and along the eaves. Rusting chain link fences sagged along the sidewalk and outlined the unkempt vacant lots between buildings. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The place for which Ranger was searching was a nondescript slate blue building tucked between two gray apartments. Despite the abandoned feel of the building, Ranger continued his measured pace around the block until he found a passage that took him to the oversized, covered landings and exit stairs that scaffolded the rear of the building.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stepping over a loosely closed bag of trash, Ranger started up the weathered wooden stairs. Despite his care, light creaks followed about a third of his footfalls, like tired seagulls shadowing him for crumbs. When he finally reached the top landing, Ranger paused, and then drifted like a darker shadow into the gloom under the overhang. He casually swept his gaze around to make sure he wasn’t obviously being watched. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He pulled out his smaller lock pick, making it look as much like a key as possible, and then turned to the door. After a few jog-and-pull movements at the deadlock and the regular keyed knob, he eased open the door far enough to see that there wasn’t a chain. No sound coming from within, either, but that didn’t mean anything. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Backing up to the doorjamb, Ranger opened the blank wooden door inward with his extended arm, his free left hand looped casually under his jacket in reach of his gun, and also a collapsable baton he’d recently added to his weaponry. Another muted squeak, this time from the hinge, preceded Ranger as he slid into the apartment like a shadow in the draft of the fully opened door.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger quickly scanned the main room and then determined that nobody was hiding in the other rooms, closets, shower, and so forth. But, looking around, Ranger could see evidence of a quick, recent departure. A light bulb was still lit in one of the closets, a plate with a half-eaten sandwich sat on the counter, and the refrigerator had an opened carton of orange juice that still smelled fresh.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After about fifteen minutes of searching, Ranger had everything he could collect from the apartment, which wasn’t much. He’d emptied drawers and inventoried cabinets, searched under and inside of mattresses and other furniture, and inventoried the clothes left behind. As often happened, the most informative items he’d found had been in the kitchen trash, aromatically buried under moist coffee grounds, beer bottles, fast food wrappers, and the other detritus of a man’s short, occasional residency. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Clutching a plastic bag containing his findings, Ranger left the apartment, this time through the front door. Scanning the hallway and listening for background noise, Ranger concluded this was a partially inhabited building; more a flop-house than a dwelling. The paucity of cooking smells, absence of TV noise, and the dustiness of the building’s entry vestibule all confirmed it. Nobody would be around on a regular basis to observe comings-and-goings of other tenants. A perfect place for someone like Figueroa or one of his cohorts to hide.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger traced a circuitous yet brisk route back to his truck under the lowering skies, and then started the ignition. Glancing at the clock, he texted a quick message to Gerry in confirmation of a previously scheduled check-in. At Gerry’s texted reply, Ranger turned his truck in the direction of the agreed-upon meeting location. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When he pulled into the gas station off Blue Hill Avenue, Ranger spotted Gerry off to the side, leaned over, pumping air into his tires. Or, at least, looking as though that was what he was doing. Ranger nodded in approval; Gerry knew how to blend in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger parked his truck and strolled to the vending machine that was next to the air pumping station. “Nice car,” Ranger commented with a slight quirk in his lip as he shrugged his shoulder toward Gerry’s aging, boxy Jetta. Tilting his head, Ranger turned toward the vending machine, watching Gerry in the reflecting glass.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Chief,” Gerry smiled brightly as he made a show of fiddling with his tire’s valve stem cap. Standing, he lightly slapped his dented blue car’s fender. “This baby and me go way back. Bought it for 5K back in the day, which was a total bargain, and only had to replace the transmission once.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eyebrows waggling as he gazed across his car’s exterior, Gerry added, “Besides, nobody would dream of stealing it, and people automatically forget seeing it. Nobody remembers boring-looking cars, even if they have a snappy little aftermarket rear spoiler and </span>
  <em>
    <span>kickin’</span>
  </em>
  <span> zero-to-sixty acceleration.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger snorted as Gerry moved to the next tire on the same side. “So, other than an underrated, four-door racing sedan, what do you have today?” Ranger asked.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to talk with someone who understands the hidden values of a well-chosen, economy car,” Gerry laughed quietly. “Okay, so here’s the quick run-down. First, the dishwashing cousin didn’t show up for his shift today. But I wasn’t the first person who’d asked about him, so I’m thinking that guy was smart to do a runner. One of the waitresses said he has one or two relatives someplace in the U.S., like maybe Minneapolis, but most of the family is back in Trinidad.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry stood up, juggling the air hose and his tire pressure gauge in his hands. “So with that,” Gerry added conversationally, I’m guessing the cousin is, as they say, ‘long gone and hard to find’ right now. But, if you want me to see what I can do to trace him, say the word.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, we’ll let him slide for now,” Ranger said while fishing for change in one of his pockets. Frankly, he’d mostly wanted Gerry to check on Isaiah the dishwasher to make sure he was out of harm’s way, given Ranger’s actions the previous evening. Taking Figueroa’s son’s into protective custody was bound to have stirred the hornet’s nest.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking down as he counted out change from his palm, Ranger asked, “Did you find out anything at Geary’s Pub?” Ranger had sent Gerry there on an instinct. The videos from Ranger’s car hadn’t revealed much last night beyond Stephanie’s skip Fennelly coming and going, apparently without legal detection. But, there was something about the action last night that was different from prior nights, which Ranger couldn’t identify. And, unfortunately, his audio signal had gone silent over the past couple of days.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So first off,” Gerry huffed, “I’m adding a bottle of Pepto to today’s expense report, because Geary’s really puts the ‘greasy’ in the phrase </span>
  <em>
    <span>greasy spoon</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger snorted, thinking of the countless times he’d taken extra reps at the gym—or had a few days of nothing but protein shakes—to deal with crappy food on a stakeout. Which was why he was glad he’d spotted a marginally healthy granola bar in the vending machine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow,” Gerry continued, “I hung out at the counter through the lunch shift and I ‘got lost’ a couple of times,” Gerry air-quoted, “on my way to the john. Hey Chief, did you know that there’s a cellar entrance from another building?” Gerry asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span>,“ he replied brusquely. Then, more thoughtfully, Ranger replied, “And no I didn’t know about that entrance. That does explain a few things.” Ranger mentally looped through the past few days of surveillance with that new detail in mind, and realized he should have considered that possibility earlier. He should have sent in someone less obvious than himself, like Gerry, earlier in his surveillance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking directly at Gerry, Ranger nodded. “Good work.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry straightened, flashing a smile before he continued talking. “So Chief, it was a bit hard to figure out everything that was said in whatever Dorchester or Southie accent they were rocking. Because,” Gerry glanced sideways at Ranger, “I’m Italian from Springfield in the western part of the state, so it’s not my lingo. It’s like listening to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Gone Baby Gone</span>
  </em>
  <span> playing in my mother’s den while I’m out back fixing her screen door again. With that damn yappy chihuahua of hers.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, and…?” Ranger asked, quite aware that his raised eyebrow and the the shift in his shoulders telegraphed as much impatience as his ironic tone.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, okay TMI,” Gerry replied with a muted chuckle. “Basically, things were buzzing in the back room. It sounded like your Brazilian friend paid a visit last night, and ruffled a few feathers. They also mentioned the name of that Irish guy you mentioned, Fennelly, and basically called him an asshole. One guy said he needed to be taken down a notch to remember the real street credentials of the people he was emulating, if that makes sense.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranger said, “Fennelly is acting important off someone else’s reputation.” Ranger summarized, remembering Morelli’s hint that Fennelly was related to an old Ulster gunrunner. Drawing his knuckle slowly down the vending machine’s glass, as though he was pondering what to buy, Ranger made a mental note to check whether Stephanie would be able to follow up that lead with her boss, as Morelli had suggested on the call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Gerry agreed as he strolled back to the air dispenser, absently coiling the pump’s hose as he went. “So, anyhow, it sounds like the bar dudes totally stonewalled your Brazilian guy, but they think Fennelly may be doing business with him. And they don’t want any part of of it. One guy mentioned that the Fennelly dude should go to ‘Nantrashbasket’ where he belongs. So maybe your Irish guy lives in Nantasket on the coast. Or, it might mean that they just think he’s a bottom-feeder and </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> live there.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Ranger nodded in acknowledgement. As Ranger mentally sorted the new information, he absently watched Gerry open his trunk and flip back a blanket, giving a flashed view of clothing, footwear, notebooks, at least one camera bag, and a few tripods. Ranger’s eyebrow drifted upward as he considered Stephanie’s description of Gerry having occasionally gotten into trouble as a stalker. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pursing his lips, Ranger considered Gerry as he counted out coins into the vending machine. Ranger could well imagine the shorter man getting obsessed, using his skills for less than professional purposes. But then, Ranger mused, was that any different from many of the other people with whom he worked? After all, he specialized in a dangerous business with dubious legal standing, and relied on talents of people who often straddled the margins of society.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through that experience, and his own inclinations, Ranger had learned long ago to base his judgements on how people acted, not on their reputed virtues or faults. In short, he trusted his own experiences with people, his own instincts. Mentally, Ranger reviewed Gerry’s work thus far, and their interactions. All told, Ranger concluded, Gerry had proven to be reliable. And he seemed to know his business.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded as he pushed the letter-and-number combination for the granola bar he’d spotted. Then Ranger’s lips tilted upward in sardonic amusement. Once again, he’d just walked through a chain of evidence and inference, only to reach the same conclusion that Stephanie had provided him days before. In this case, that Gerry was quirky but talented. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger snorted as he bent down to pull the foil-wrapped oat bar from the machine. Straightening, he saw Gerry taking off his coat in the reflecting glass of the vending machine. Dressed in a nondescript, working man’s outfit, Gerry looked like he was between shifts at a utility company or warehouse. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning toward the man, Ranger noted that Gerry had neglected hair styling products today, leaving his wavy black hair looser around his face than on previous days. He also had a bit of beard growth; probably he’d shaved last night rather than this morning. On Gerry’s light olive complexion, the beard shadow sketched the outline of a weathered and mature look over his otherwise boyish features. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Subtle touches, but Ranger recognized that Gerry had done enough to blend into the usual hardscrabble working class crowd at Geary’s Pub during the day. As Gerry pulled a replacement coat from his trunk, Ranger glanced at the contents again and shrugged. In fairness, it wasn’t too different from the contents of Manny’s trunk. Though Manny tended to have a few more sparkly headbands and toy horses in his baggage, left over from visits with his daughters.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gerry closed his car’s trunk and shrugged into his replacement coat. “So Chief, what’s next on the list?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger narrowed his eyes, then looked back at his truck, suddenly wondering what Gerry might make of the various bits of paper Ranger had retrieved from the Codman Square apartment. Ranger had already drawn his own conclusions—that Figueroa was in process of shifting his operations south or west of Boston, possibly to New York but more likely further south. But perhaps Gerry, with his local knowledge, might have additional insights. In any case, it would be test of what else Gerry could do.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Decision made, Ranger pocketed his granola bar and glanced at Gerry. “Up for some analysis work? I have a stash of receipts and other junk from an apartment where I think either Figueroa or Fennelly was recently squatting. With some checking, it might give a clue to their next steps.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, sounds good. Do you want an inventory, a surface analysis of connections, or something more speculative?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of the above, though let me know what is speculative,” Ranger replied as he opened the door to his truck and pulled out the small trash bag containing the various paper to be analyzed. He already had a mental inventory of the contents, including the stash of racing forms and wagering tickets, the Mass Pike toll receipt from West Stockbridge and the one dated same day from the Fort McHenry Tunnel at Baltimore Harbor, and a mangled ticket stub from the Greenbush commuter rail line from about a week ago. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger set the bag down between the tire inflation machine and the trash basket against the back fence. “Give me a call when you’re done,” Ranger instructed. Then, as he climbed into his Explorer, Ranger turned to Gerry with a wry flare of his eyebrow. “Oh, and I recommend wearing gloves. A lot of that stuff was in the garbage.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Isn’t that where the good stuff always is?” Gerry laughed. As Ranger started to pull his door closed, Gerry leaned into the passenger side of his own car. “Trash patrol,” Gerry’s voice emerged from the car slightly before he did, “Yup, I’m on it,” he flashed a grin as he brandished an overflowing car trash basket. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh. And hey, one more thing,” Gerry called out as he headed toward the trash bin by the air pump. “The dudes at Geary’s Pub have figured out that the beater Chevy of yours was planted down the block. They haven’t figured out why, and a couple of the reasons I heard verge on tinfoil hat conspiracy theory. But, if it helps to know, they’re pretty sure it belongs to some guy in the DEA named Brownell who’s been hounding the bar owner.” Gerry dumped his own trash and casually lifted Ranger’s bag from along the fence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Excellent,” Ranger chuckled as he finished closing his door and started his truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking around in a standard pattern, Ranger pulled out from the gas station and mentally reviewed his list of remaining locations to check. Weighing priorities, Ranger decided to start with the corner in Roxbury where the nice group of ladies handed out religious pamphlets while surveilling the surrounding blocks better than any neighborhood watch. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Reaching forward, Ranger switched his truck’s dash display to show the GPS map. Then, plotting his first box maneuver, Ranger slowed his breathing, focused his attention, and resumed driving. He still had a lot of ground to cover today. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger turned on his truck’s sound system and selected one of his longer playlists: an acoustic mix of classical guitar and old-style Spanish Baroque dance music. They were subtle yet passionate melodies played out in measured, controlled cadences. A mixture of assured strength, calm delicacy, breathless exuberance and exquisite restraint. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Exactly what Ranger needed to help maintain focus on getting his work done today, while leaving room for him to cultivate his mood from this morning’s T’ai Chi. To continue the rhythm of his nascent plans into evening, which he fully intended to spend with Stephanie. At that thought, Ranger smiled.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0029"><h2>29. Looking for Answers</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 29: Looking for Answers</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pulled her purse over her shoulder, getting ready to head out for her afternoon meeting. Picking up her wire-bound notebook, she peeked at the most recent page of writing before snapping it closed again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Yup, she had totally doodled through the entire lunch session as though she were still back in middle school. All that was missing on the page was pink ink and maybe some glitter and a sticker or two. Rolling her eyes, Stephanie decided that it was good that the mandatory refresher had been on something she already knew well. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie snorted, she was pretty well versed in proper police first responder protocol in case of explosion or fire.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After all, in New Jersey, she had been first-hand witness to enough fire-bombings, explosions, and arson that she’d memorized the emergency codes for each one before she’d even started working part-time as a dispatcher at the Trenton station. She’d known how many and which type of emergency vehicles would be called in each situation, the size of the perimeter to be set up around the incident, and the preferred approach to gathering witness statements. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Waving to her cube neighbor Janice as she left the precinct office, Stephanie smirked at that last bit of knowledge. Because, since her second year on the job, Stephanie had been leading the </span>
  <em>
    <span>Civilian Perspective</span>
  </em>
  <span> module during semi-annual BPD sensitivity training for emergency responders. Who knew that holding the New Jersey state record, two years in a row, of most frequent non-mobster name on the witness list for explosions would end up being an asset? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Initially it had been oddly liberating to be appreciated for her memories and feelings about her various car fires, apartment fire-bombings, and other disasters. Instead of being a big honking problem the size of the Fresh Kills landfill, her encounters with danger had been </span>
  <em>
    <span>valuable</span>
  </em>
  <span>. She’d been asked to speak about them, not shove them under the rug in arguments and long sleepless nights on opposite sides of the bed with Joe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then, something unexpected had happened after the first year. Listening to the other side—the roundtable of first responder experiences—she’d finally understood the emotional trauma they lived through. The fear that they’d find injured or dead children at the site, the guilt at not saving everyone, the constant stress of maybe not being fast or brave enough. The need to force a mask of calm over their own adrenaline and dread so the panicked people at the scene would follow their direction.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And finally, the worst experience: having to continue being professional and fast-brave-calm enough to save everyone else after finding someone you loved who’d been killed or gravely injured. It had been a man who’d told that story; a twenty-year veteran who still had nightmares after finding his sister at a boiler explosion in his third year on the force. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At which point, Stephanie’s long-held anger at Joe and his gruff, distancing behavior after her various car, apartment, and abduction disasters melted away the way yesterday’s snow had dwindled into small pockets of fading slush drizzling the curb.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhaling as she crossed to the parking lot entrance, Stephanie remembered the moment when she’d finally understood why Joe had wanted her out of the bounty hunting business. And she’d seen the underlying reason why their relationship could never have worked. After all, how could his love have flourished when it was regularly infused with the raw emotions of a first-or-second responder to a situation that could have killed her? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And how could she have claimed to be in love with Joe, yet not have understood what she was putting him through, again and again? At the time, she’d contrasted him with Ranger in that regard, and found Joe wanting. Ranger’s calm, his unflappable ability to simply </span>
  <em>
    <span>deal</span>
  </em>
  <span> with everything, had fooled her into thinking Joe should be that way also. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>When in fact, as she’d begun to see over the past week, Ranger’s ability to power through whatever crazy, dangerous situation arose was because he’d already walled off his feelings long before he’d met Stephanie. After all, with his experience, Ranger was the ultimate first responder. If her car blew up, if she was held hostage, if she was temporarily missing after an explosion… Ranger could simply treat it as another mission to execute from behind his ongoing emotional lockdown. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And where Joe had a family and a happy home, and even Stephanie did, Ranger was still alone. Behind those walls, still deeply caring about people. She’d always seen that about Ranger, even when she’d first met him. Even now, years later, she’d been able to see how much he’d cared about the two boys who he’d rescued. How he cared about her daughters’ safety. And how he cared about Stephanie. How he probably always had, behind his confusing and distancing actions. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which led to another thought: Perhaps Ranger, like Joe, </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> been reacting to Stephanie’s frequent danger in Trenton, but had been doing it by building ever sturdier emotional walls. Perhaps that’s why she’d never felt that she’d broken through his reserve.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stopped, realizing that she was standing at her car’s door, and had been for a few moments. Well, Stephanie sighed, she certainly had a few things to think about, though now was not the right time. With a brief look heavenward, Stephanie wondered why her subconscious didn’t process things like </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the background when she was distracted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Instead, it encouraged her to write “Ranger” and “Rick” repeatedly on her notes page during the noon refresher session, in different sizes and fonts. With flourishes and question marks, and—Stephanie blushed—a few decorative renditions of two guns and a knife. All of which looked a bit more phallic than necessary. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The added sketch of what was supposed to have been a vacuum cleaner next to one of the weapon compositions didn’t really help. Stephanie blushed even more deeply as she turned to start her car. The engine coughed a few times, while lights on the dash valiantly flicked. And then, with a rumble, it finally started.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As icy air gusted suddenly from the nearby air vent across Stephanie’s warmed cheeks, she reached over to quiet the blaring radio and turn off the heat for now. Sitting back into her seat, hands resting on the steering wheel, Stephanie could almost imagine Ranger’s stoic yet humor-filled “Babe” as though he were sitting next to her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which made Stephanie smile. No matter what had been troubled between Stephanie and Ranger in the past, she always could surprise him in ways that amused and brought a light to his eyes, and he always could warm her heart with just one word. That was the connection that was still there.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she sat waiting for her car to warm up, Stephanie remembered the other day when she’d driven Ranger to work, and then to pick up his truck. His substantial, masculine frame had been poised in the compact front seat with leonine grace. His lips had raised in a barely-there smile as he watched her, his eyes warm. It was an abbreviated version of the smile he’d had this morning as he’d leaned in the doorway, arms crossed casually as he watched Stephanie and the girls mobilize for school and work. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, she considered that it would no-doubt appeal to Ranger’s male pride and slightly off-kilter humor to know that he’d inspired a grown woman to write his name in her notebook like a giddy schoolgirl. And that the same woman, Stephanie, had wanted to stay home this morning instead of going to work, perhaps to ride along with Ranger in his truck the way she’d done so many times in Trenton. That she’d needed to curb the impulse to call him several times already today, only breaking her resolve when she’d heard from her friend ’Fredo that his cousin Mateo had maybe seen Figueroa in his Franklin Park check cashing shop.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even so, Stephanie realized ruefully as she pulled out of the parking lot that she’d better pull out that page and shred it before someone at work, or even Ranger, saw it. She’d already had to deal with Sarah’s insightful conclusion that Ranger should move into the Plum household, since he’d been part of the family even before Sarah was even born. Which had led to Lisa’s uncomfortable question this morning of where would Ranger sleep the next time Grandpa Plum came to visit and wanted to stay in the den. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not to mention Mary Alice’s shrewd glances over the past several days, and her increasingly pointed Sinatra songs. And with that, this morning’s song from breakfast was in Stephanie’s mind again. And she knew the lyrics to Mary Alice’s hummed song: </span>
  <em>
    <span>Night and day you are the one, only you beneath the moon or under the sun. Whether near to me or far, it's no matter, darling, where you are... I think of you night and day</span>
  </em>
  <em>
    <span>.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Oh yeah, Mary Alice was not bothering with subtlety any more. And Stephanie needed to get a grip on her own wayward thoughts soon. Or at least face what she was avoiding, and come up with a plan for the upcoming weekend. Because while </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie whispered primly that nothing should be any different tonight and tomorrow, even though the girls were away and she and Ranger would be together in the house by themselves, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-so-good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie had decidedly other thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-so-good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie had been visualizing some of those other thoughts all morning, in living detail, causing Stephanie’s eyes to glaze over at completely inappropriate times. Which had clearly led to doodling for forty five minutes during a business meeting. Oh, who was she kidding? Both </span>
  <em>
    <span>good</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>not-so-good</span>
  </em>
  <span> Stephanie had been totally along for the ride in fantasyland all this morning. But that didn’t help her: she still didn’t know what to do this weekend.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie patted her fingers against the steering wheel as she waited at a red light. With normal traffic at this time of day, it would take about twenty minutes to get to the Dudley Square Municipal Center where her meeting was taking place. Squaring her shoulders, Stephanie reached for her earbuds that were coiled on the passenger seat along with her phone. Then with a few practiced taps, she dialed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey there, happy Friday!” Mary Lou’s voice chirped over the phone. “Two calls in one week, to what do I owe this great pleasure? Did you finish your Christmas list already and realize there’s one missing gift that only can be found at Quaker Bridge Mall? Because if it involves shopping, I’m willing and able to make the sacrifice on your behalf.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hi Mary Lou,” Stephanie replied, feeling tension rolling off her shoulders at Mary Lou’s characteristic enthusiasm. “Do you have a few minutes free for a best friend consultation?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You betcha. What’s up? Is there news about any tall, dark and handsome men who were incommunicado on a cross-galactic mission until very recently?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No. Well yes,” Stephanie sighed. “But mostly there’s confusion.” Stephanie nibbled her lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Confusion? Like he’s being confusing, with that ‘not really talking except with his eyebrow’ thing that you always said he did? Or like you’re trying really hard to not pay attention to what you’re really thinking, so that’s why you’re confused?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie exhaled a quiet laugh. “Well, mostly it’s me being befuddled. Because—and here’s confusing thing number one—Ranger is actually talking. Or, at least sharing more than usual, like about his work, and a little about himself also.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So that’s a good thing, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Stephanie affirmed.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So, what did he talk about? Do tell!”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, he told me about the case he’s working on, where he rescued a couple of boys who’d been abducted by their dad. And there’s more to that, but I think I can’t divulge that because it’s related to his case. And he talked a bit about his daughter. Remember Julie?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Mary Lou’s voice acknowledged.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well Julie is Angie’s age now,” Stephanie continued. “And I think she’s trying to get to know Ranger, because she went all the way up to New York near him for college. But she’s enough like him, apparently, that she hasn’t said that directly. And he’s kinda awkward around kids. But no, that’s not true; he’s good with my girls. Just a bit unsure. Although that makes sense since he’s been living as a bachelor for years. At least I think so… he hasn’t mentioned any women’s names, though of course I haven’t spoken much about Brian. So then….”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Whoa,” Mary Lou interjected. “Slow that roll for a sec. What you’re talking about is the stuff you’re thinking, but not what he’s said. And maybe he’s saying a lot for Ranger, but speaking as someone married to a normal man, not a caped crusader, it doesn’t sound like Ranger is saying much from what you’ve told me so far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, yeah, I get why you’re saying that,” Stephanie mulled. “But I guess I have to measure Ranger against himself, not other people. And he’s definitely telling me more than he did when I knew him before. There are these pauses when he’s talking, and then he says something personal that he wouldn’t have said before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mary Lou said again, this time with speculation in her tone. “You know him and I don’t. So I’ll take your word for it.” Mary Lou paused. “So, has he told you why he disappeared for however many years? Or what he plans to do now that he’s dropped into your life like Jason Bourne appearing as a cameo in an episode of Gilmore Girls?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well no,” Stephanie began, squirming slightly. “But Mary Lou, if Ranger did just blurt that out I’d worry that he was an imposter pretending to be Ranger. The fact that he talked about his daughter Julie was actually a big deal, coming from him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Speaking over Mary Lou’s non-committal murmur, Stephanie continued, “And the fact that he just hung out with me and the girls last night after having accomplished something really important on his current job… that was a choice.” Stephanie asserted. “He decided to spend time with me, at home. And Mary Lou, it was really nice,” Stephanie confided. “We didn’t talk about anything heavy; we just spent the evening together. We hardly ever did that before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, that’s a good start,” Mary Lou agreed. “I remember you saying before that Ranger speaks through his actions sometimes.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true. And Mary Lou, get this: Ranger, the man who eats twigs, and wouldn’t let his employees eat fat in any form, has brought home pastry more than once in just one week. He brought a whole box of fresh donuts one morning when he’d been out late, and that’s something he totally doesn’t eat,” Stephanie asserted what suddenly felt like definitive proof of Ranger’s newly found—though characteristically non-verbal—communication abilities.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And last night,” Stephanie continued, “he brought home a Cuban dessert that was totally yummy. And when he shared it with us, he told me that it was one of his favorites.” Stephanie paused, her eyes widening. “I actually got to watch Ranger eat dessert,” Stephanie confided breathlessly, not sure why she was blushing. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mary Lou replied slowly. “So I’ll grant you that he’s figured out the ’Burg habit of speaking through food instead of words. And, I totally give the man style points, because the Cuban man bringing Cuban dessert is oh-so tasteful. Pun intended,” she ended with an arch smile in her voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“See, I told you,” Stephanie answered. “Dessert is the universal language.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Lou laughed, then said in a kindly tone, “Honey, </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>talking</span>
  </em>
  <span> are the universal language. Dessert is a social gesture, like giving flowers.” Then she hastened to add, “Even if it’s a very nice and maybe even sexy gesture.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Mmmm yeah, I know,” Stephanie murmured, her eyes beginning to glaze over, again, the way they’d been doing off-and-on throughout the day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Stephie, no inattentive thoughts of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>guy</span>
  </em>
  <span> variety in traffic! Don’t forget how Lizzie Switzer’s write-up on her car accident driving home from that Chippendale’s show was a top ‘must read’ in the ’Burg for over two weeks.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Spoilsport,” Stephanie snorted, considering that she had never yet had a car incident due to inattentive guy-related thoughts. Though it had admittedly been a while since there had been any guy about whom to have inattentive thoughts. So maybe Mary Lou was onto something, there. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mary Lou had resumed talking. “Yeah, I know. I’m a big meanie, that’s why you called me,” she laughed gently. “But here’s what I want you to think about. We all know that Ranger is the international man of mystery, so for that reason alone it’s a big deal that he’s doing these little domestic things. But, without words you don’t know what it means. He might just be thanking you for letting him stay at your house.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie frowned; Mary Lou had a point and Stephanie was smart enough to know it. And, after all, what did that vacuum cleaner in her daydreaming sketches earlier today really mean? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, back to the point, there was another thing that her best friend didn’t know. “Mary Lou, this is big. Last night was the most amount of time we’ve been able to spend together since Ranger showed up. It felt like, well... It felt like he and I were starting over. And, as part of it, Ranger actually told me his real name, which he never tells anyone, and asked me to use it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh honey,” Mary Lou’s voice gushed. “I remember how special it was for you whenever Ranger told you something about himself.” Kindly, she added, “I can understand why you feel that he’s communicating more with you, since it sounds like he </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> trying to say important things to you.” Then, with a hint of mischievousness, Mary Lou added, “But I’m shocked to hear that his mother didn’t see that ramrod straight baby and name him </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> from day one.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help but giggle at the image of a tiny boy with a raised eyebrow, dressed in a camouflage onesie with his arms crossed, refusing to drink from his bottle unless it was nonfat milk.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Mary Lou, that is too funny,” Stephanie conceded. “And I do hear what you’re trying to tell me. That I assume a lot of meaning behind what Ranger does. And what he occasionally says.” Stephanie rolled her eyes ruefully at Mary Lou’s amused, knowing hum at the other end of the phone. Then she took a quick moment to check that she was still driving the correct direction to Dudley Square, and hadn’t accidentally taken one of her usual turn-offs. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realizing she only had perhaps ten minutes left, Stephanie said, “But, Mary Lou, I actually called for a specific girlfriend consultation.” And before Mary Lou could challenge her, Stephanie hastened to add, “And I’m not trying to change the conversation. It’s still about Ranger. And kinda about communication. Well, maybe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Mary Lou chirped. “I’m here for you. What’s up?”     </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So…,” Stephanie started, suddenly realizing she actually didn’t know how to say this. Well, this was Mary Lou, who’d seen her through every life crisis, small and large, since grade school. Lifting her chin, Stephanie decided to approach her situation head-on. “So, this is my weekend without the girls. I’ve been thinking of what to do, since Ranger is here. I want to do something to let him know how special he is, how much it means to me that he’s here with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shrugged. “I know he’ll probably be working, because he really has a case he needs to close.” Stephanie’s eyes narrowed as she remembered the frame-up that he still hadn’t fully cleared. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay sweetie, so what are you going to do?” Mary Lou asked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, that’s the big question. I was thinking that he might be free tonight, and maybe tomorrow evening also, based on a couple of things he said this morning. So, I wonder if he’d like dinner at the restaurant at the top of the Prudential building, which has an awesome panoramic view of the city.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie inhaled, “Or we could take a stroll in the North End and then go to this really nice Italian restaurant that’s really romantic. And I don’t have to tell Ranger that the only reason I know about it is that Brian took me there when we were dating. Or, my friend Janice reminded me that her old country club has a fancy dinner on the first weekend of each month, with a string quartet, and she could get me two tickets through her connections.” Stephanie paused, nibbling her lip.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Stephie, next time I’m in Boston you’re definitely taking </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> on a date,” Mary Lou said archly, making Stephanie smile. “But honey,” she continued, “what you’re describing sounds like something you’d see happening in a romantic movie or TV show. They don’t sound like things that my bestie, Stephanie Plum, usually does. So why would you want to do those types of things with Ranger?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, they’re special things to do. And I want to let him know that he’s special to me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, ignoring the fact that maybe you could use some of those pesky </span>
  <em>
    <span>words</span>
  </em>
  <span> to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>say</span>
  </em>
  <span> that, here’s what I want you to think about,” Mary Lou instructed gently. “You’ve known Ranger for years, right? So I’m thinking that he already knows that he’s special to you. And, I remember he sometimes wined-and-dined you, even if it was in his apartment or part of a job. So, are you trying to roll back time to the relationship you had in Trenton?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” Stephanie frowned, wondering suddenly if that was indeed what she was trying to do. Because, having Ranger as a </span>
  <em>
    <span>friend with benefits</span>
  </em>
  <span> was magic. But, no. It was ultimately frustrating. And not what she wanted at this point in her life. And not what she wanted to model for her daughters, either. Though the </span>
  <em>
    <span>benefits</span>
  </em>
  <span> part… oh yeah, that would be great to have again. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Swallowing, Stephanie answered, “No Mary Lou, you’re right. I don’t want to turn back time to Trenton. And honestly, I don’t know how happy those times made him.” She felt a blush warm her face. “Though, maybe I’m thinking of evening-filling things to do so I don’t just jump his bones when he comes through the door. Because I’ve thought of doing that, too. And that </span>
  <em>
    <span>does</span>
  </em>
  <span> feel just like Trenton.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no, boys and sex. My little Stephie grew up and became a woman overnight!” Mary Lou’s laughter almost tickled over the phone, and Stephanie couldn’t help but join in. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I guess what I’m thinking, Stephie, is that this is your big chance to find out whether he could fit into your life. Because you’re not going to pick up your stakes and change your life for him, right?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Right,” Stephanie acknowledged, realizing that she truly hadn’t been imagining changing her life around for Ranger. Beyond the occasional memory, she hadn’t been envisioning turning into Wonder Woman so she could hang out with Batman. Well, with Ranger, who apparently didn’t want to be called Batman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But what </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> she been imagining? Ranger showing up from time to time, and then disappearing to his mysterious and distant “real life” the way he had in Trenton? Ranger just magically living in the den going forward, the way Lisa assumed? </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sighing, Stephanie admitted, “Okay, I hadn’t thought about it that way, but you’re right. I’d like him to be in my life, but I guess I need to figure out what that actually means, huh?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, that would help,” Mary Lou’s voice smiled. “And you need to give him space to imagine himself being in your life,” she advised. “So honey, keep showing him who you have become over these past years. You’re an incredible woman; let him see what your life is like, and that you welcome him into that. Because that’s what reality with that man would be. Not endless date nights. That’s a fantasy, and it’s not fair to you or Ranger, because nobody can live up to that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Lula said something like that,” Stephanie thought back to her discussion with her other best female friend. “She said that I needed to just be straight with him, show him I believe in him, and let him see that he's a part of my life. And that he has to figure out how he could be part of that life. That it’s the only way to have Ranger for real.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, well Stephie, you surround yourself with us smartie pants, so are you surprised?” Mary Lou giggled, then paused. “Here’s a thought: what would you normally do when the girls are with the Kloughns? What does that weekend usually look like?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, on Friday, now that the girls are older, the Kloughns have usually already picked up everyone by the time I get home. So Friday is like ‘spa night’. Mrs. Arshad downstairs has usually cooked dinner for me. So I change into my sweats and fuzzy slippers, eat dinner and maybe have a glass or two of wine, and I watch old movies. Then Saturday is errands and laundry day, or sometimes during the season there are hockey games or dance recitals, though not this weekend. Then Sunday, sometimes I go to church, or maybe take a walk around the pond, sometimes I meet people for brunch. Mostly I just hang out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s good,” Mary Lou affirmed. “Here’s one way to go. Do your usual Friday night. It’s low key, but it’s relaxing and authentically you. It gives Ranger a glimpse into what it would be like to be part of your life on a more regular basis. And it shows him that he’s special, because you’re sharing one of your favorite things with him. Then, on Saturday, do some of those errands. Based on how all of that goes, you could do something more fancy on Saturday night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know Mary Lou, we’ve already kinda started. We watched hockey last night after dinner, and it was totally low-key and normal. At least Plum-family normal.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nice, that’s a good start. Did you do much talking?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“A little. The girls were there, and then it was late, so mostly we had half-asleep mumbles. Which still was really nice.” Stephanie knew she should mention that a lot of that mumbling conversation had happened in her bed, while she was wrapped contentedly in Ranger’s arms. But Mary Lou had never understood how Stephanie could speak about Ranger with bone-deep longing, but then be content to spend nights in his arms doing little more than hug and talk like long married people.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she’d never told Mary Lou how Ranger had spent nights seated in her vanity chair, just watching her sleep. Even Stephanie hadn’t quite known how to describe that, though it was one of the most comforting things she’d ever experienced. Stephanie strongly suspected, though, that others wouldn’t see Ranger’s B&amp;E adventures in her Trenton apartment as being a sensible source of comfort.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay then,” Mary Lou’s familiar voice slipped inside of Stephanie’s thoughts. “Let tonight build on last night. And honey, as the voice of someone who’s been married for almost twenty years, I can tell you that some of the best times Lenny and I have sound like your spa nights. It’s just us, being together, being ourselves. We watch movies, talk about what happened during the day, or sometimes we just cuddle half-asleep on the sofa.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Mary Lou sniffed, then continued, “And I won’t lie: sometimes we argue and it’s a close call to remember our agreement to never sleep in separate rooms when we’re angry with each other. But honey, that’s a big part of why we’re still together. Because we’re just </span>
  <em>
    <span>ourselves</span>
  </em>
  <span> with each other, we know each other’s best and worst sides, we talk to each other, and at the end of the day we know how to be together every day.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Mary Lou,” Stephanie said thoughtfully, “Ranger and I used to do a lot of things together. Back in Trenton.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, but that was over seven years ago. You’ve changed a lot since then, and he probably has also. So it’s like you said: you’re sort of starting over. And besides: were they fun </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stephanie</span>
  </em>
  <span> things, like watching movies over pizza, or maybe bowling? Or instead, were they </span>
  <em>
    <span>work</span>
  </em>
  <span> things that you did together only because you were on the job?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring the almost otherworldly image of Ranger in a buttoned camp shirt and two-toned shoes at the bowling alley, Stephanie answered, “Well, I guess mostly we spent time together on the job, but does it matter?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While she waited for Mary Lou’s answer, Stephanie tamped down a fleeting memory of the time she’d spent with Ranger in Hawaii. She’d never been able to categorize that trip. She’d gotten him to join her to chase a bounty, but it had turned into so much more. It had been like a fantasy vacation, a make-believe honeymoon… until Joe had arrived. Her real-life boyfriend. The bucket of cold water on a sparking blaze. The bucket she’d ultimately dumped on both men, herself.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes Stephie,” Mary Lou’s voice slipped through Stephanie’s memory, pulling her back. “It does matter. Because no matter how you try, nobody is ever quite themselves while at work. I mean, how long have I been part-time bookkeeper at Hamilton Olds? It has to be at least fifteen years, and it’s still a place I dress up for, even if it’s just to wear nice slacks instead of jeans, and where I’m always aware of who’s the boss. It’s just not the same.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Stephanie replied. That was something to think about. When Vinnie Plum had been her boss… well she respected him about as little as she had when they were kids and he’d regularly wiped his snot on his shirt. But when she’d worked at Rangeman… yeah she’d been aware that Ranger was the boss. And when she’d slipped a couple of times, either he or one of the Rangemen had reminded her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyhow sweetie,” Mary Lou’s voice was like a warm breeze over her thoughts, “I was serious before: you’ve built a nice life for yourself and this is your chance to decide if Ranger really could be part of it. It’s an unexpected chance, so accept it.” Then, with humor, she added, “And though Ranger might not be a natural talker, you are Stephanie Plum. You can ask questions and get anyone to talk about themselves.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie admitted reluctantly, “and you were right earlier: I have to talk, too. About myself and what I feel. And maybe about topics that I’m uncomfortable to discuss.” Stephanie sighed, envisioning a one-way trip to the Third World in her near future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s not a risk,” Mary Lou insisted. “This is a man who stares hardened criminals in the eye for a living. How hard can a personal conversation really be? And, after all, by now that man has gotta know that you’re curious about everything. If he shuts you down without reasons, you’re no worse off than you were seven years ago, and maybe there’s nothing there. If he doesn’t tell you stuff but gives you reasons, think about the reasons and see if they make sense. Or maybe he’ll actually share some important things with you, and you can build on that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie exhaled, nodding at her friend’s wisdom. Then Mary Lou gently advised, “Honey, this is important. Either it’s real or it’s not. I just don’t want to see you in a relationship like your mom had with your dad. Even I could tell she was talking </span>
  <em>
    <span>at</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, not </span>
  <em>
    <span>with</span>
  </em>
  <span> him, most of the time. And you told me there were whole topics that never came up, and that she kept you and Val from bringing up. I want something better for you, sweetie.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Stephanie nodded to herself. “And this is what I needed to hear.” Swallowing, she admitted, “I think I just want to be with Ranger, for real this time, but I’m afraid I’ll blow it. I guess… I just don’t know why he disappeared for all those years. Maybe it was something I did. Or didn’t do.” Exhaling in a puff, Stephanie pulled her lips wryly, “So I guess that’s something I kinda, sorta, maybe really need to discuss with him, huh?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think so honey,” Mary Lou agreed, dry amusement evident in her tone.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, it just figures,” Stephanie snorted. Then Stephanie spotted a parking space and spoke up. “Well, I hate to whine and run, but I really gotta go. I’m about to park and go to my next meeting. Wish me luck this weekend.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Go forth and be Stephanie, you will not fail!” Mary Lou exclaimed. Stephanie could almost see her best friend from childhood in front of her, eyes sparkling and arms gesturing victoriously, as though Mary Lou were once again playing Gabrielle to Stephanie’s Xena in the Plum family backyard.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie chuckled as they ended the call with their usual farewells, her mood buoyed yet again by her friend’s faith and optimism. Mary Lou had always been able to help Stephanie think clearly. And was gracious enough to avoid too many “told you so” comments after the times when Stephanie had completely ignored Mary Lou’s sage advice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, of course, Mary Lou was right. If Stephanie was going to have anything different with Ranger than what they’d had before, she had to do things a bit differently. Stephanie had already started, in her attempts to actually tell Ranger that she wanted him in her life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not like how she’d been in Trenton, when she hadn’t even known herself what she’d wanted. She’d wanted to stand on her own; she’d wanted to be the hero of her own adventure; she’d wanted to retreat to her parents’ home on a regular basis to just </span>
  <em>
    <span>belong</span>
  </em>
  <span>; she’d wanted romance and the feeling of belonging with another; she’d wanted to avoid anything that might bring another Dickie into her life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She’d wanted to be Wonder Woman. She’d wanted to wear sweats and rest on her bed for days in her thinking pose.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie rolled her eyes: It wasn’t really a mystery why neither Ranger nor Joe had been able to figure her out either. After all, during most of the time she’d known Ranger in Trenton, Stephanie had basically lived with Joe, and had even been briefly engaged to him. And yet, the man she’d fantasized about had been Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she got out of her car and started walking the couple of blocks toward Dudley Square, Stephanie sighed at the stupidity of her younger self. Even though the physical aspect of her relationship with Joe had been more than satisfying at the time, in her memory it was all a vague, pleasurable blur. And yet… she still remembered details of some nights with Ranger. She could almost feel specific times that they’d embraced in the urgency of lust; she still sometimes recalled his thorough, lingering kisses like phantom touches along her lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And at that moment, Stephanie had a flash of memory—a static charge rolling along her spine, from her mind to her pelvis—of one evening with Ranger in Hawaii. He’d come into their suite after a shower, his hair wet and his sweatpants hanging loose along his hips. She’d seen his reflection as she’d gazed out the sliding glass door facing their private lanai patio. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had stalked silently over to her, a characteristic half smile on his lips, and pulled her to him. Her back painted along his front, secure, just like like they’d slept together countless times for comfort. His lips had heated her neck with liquid fire, igniting her body as his hands had caressed and then held her as they’d made love against the window. Both of them watching the raucous colors of the sunset blossom along the skyline the way all the nerves her body had exploded along with him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Flustered, Stephanie blushingly realized that she’d been standing at the curb through at least one walk light, and now had to wait again for traffic to switch before she crossed. And she remembered exactly why she always shut down memories of Hawaii. Because, to remember such passion in her lonely bed was simply frustrating. To treasure memories of a vanished lover was unfair to anyone else Stephanie might meet. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And to remember Hawaii was confusing. Painful. A reminder of everything she’d gotten wrong in that part of her life. After all, it was Stephanie who’d invited Joe to come with her at the last minute, left without him when he couldn’t juggle his job responsibilities and budget quickly enough to join her, and then invited Ranger. And after Joe moved heaven and earth to join her, finding her more than half naked with Ranger, she’d gotten both Joe and Ranger briefly detained by the Hawaii cops when they’d fought over her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she’d agreed with Lula the other day, the way Stephanie had fled Hawaii—and the men who had been there for her—was far from her best moment. Far from it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey Plum,” a voice crashed into her thoughts, and she recognized her ginger-haired boss standing across the street. And, yes, Mary Lou was right that no matter how comfortable she was with Ryan, the very fact that he was her boss did make her straighten up and re-engage with her surroundings in a sudden hurry.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ignoring the pedestrian stop light, Ryan stepped into traffic and dodged nonchalantly between cars, crossing to where Stephanie was standing. “You headed over to the Dudley Muni Center?” Ryan asked in his slightly nasal, Boston accent. At Stephanie’s nod, Ryan continued, “Perfect timing; I’m just coming back from the BPD District B-2 building down the street.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan smiled, his pale eyes making his crooked smile look almost mischievous. “I meant to call you, but this is even better.” Taking Stephanie’s elbow to move them both away from the small knot of pedestrians at the corner, Ryan continued speaking. “After you and I spoke this morning, I followed up on our mutual friend Joe Morelli’s reminder that our newly interesting and missing perp, Brendan Fennelly, may be related to Aidan Dwyer.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“What did you find out?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well for one thing, it’s apparently true, though there’s not much contact between the Dwyers and the Fennellys. In any case, it’s true enough that the detectives who originally arrested Fennelly spoke to Dwyer during their investigation. But of course, they got totally stonewalled. Dwyer is one of those guys who’s been evading the system for so long that he’s like a textbook on how to avoid self-incrimination through creative misdirection.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a sardonic tilt to his lips, Ryan added, “Anyhow, I’m not going into how I tracked him down, or about all the second cousins, parochial schools, communions, and step-dancing classes I had to discuss. But, the short answer is that I arranged an off-the-books meeting between you and Dwyer. Specifically to discuss Brendan Fennelly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow, thanks,” Stephanie answered, feeling the bone-deep thrill she always had when pieces of the puzzle seemed to be fitting into place, even if she didn’t know the big picture yet. “When and where?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Tomorrow between 3 and 6 PM,” Ryan answered as he pushed back hanks of his unruly hair that, seconds later, small gusts of wind returned to his forehead. “Dwyer will be at O’Malley’s on one of the side streets off Dot Ave—that’s Dorchester Avenue—north of Savin Hill. It’s one of those old pubs with dark shades over the windows because guys in the 1960s gave a crap whether kids or the local priest saw them drinking on Sunday afternoon. Anyhow, I’ll text you the address when I get back to the office. Say you’re there to meet the manager of the band and wear something from Boston College with the BC Eagle logo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“He cares what I wear? Is that so I fit in?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan shrugged, a wry smile on his face, “Dwyer is one of those hardcore guys that used to visit McLaughlin Gang hangouts in Charlestown, and I understand that he’s big on symbolic secret handshakes like that crowd all used to be. What he actually said was, ‘wear something classic from Boston College, it’ll warm my old, retired tradesman’s heart’. Translating from ‘old Irish guy dialect’ that’s a reminder that Dwyer has always had a legit job and we’ve never been able to pin anything on him. And it tells me that the BC logo thing is important to him personally, as a symbol.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Ryan,” Stephanie interjected. “Doesn’t like a third of the city wear Boston College stuff during the hockey and football seasons? How secret is that?” Stephanie knew that even Mary Alice wore a BC ballcap in the autumn, before it got cold enough for winter wear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah you’re right,” Ryan nodded, “but the reason why Dwyer would ask for that is that his grandson is a Triple Eagle, which means he graduated three times from Boston College: from BC High, BC Undergraduate, and then BC Law. It’s a big deal in that community, and be sure to offer your congratulations. That’s why it’s important to wear something from BC with the bird on it. </span>
  <em>
    <span>That’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> the secret handshake.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm… okay,” Stephanie responded, adding this new information to her store of perplexing, Boston-specific details that she could use on the job. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just do it,” Ryan said, “I’m sure that within minutes of my call, Dwyer found a press photo of you somewhere and will recognize you. But the BC thing tells him you respect him and you’re connected to someone who knows him. Which, of course, he already knows since I initiated the meeting. But, respect of standing and symbols matters to those guys.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan paused, his lopsided grin taking years off his face. “And, as my Grandma Ryan will happily tell you throughout your entire life and probably into the afterlife, it really </span>
  <em>
    <span>is</span>
  </em>
  <span> a big deal that Dwyer’s grandson is a Triple Eagle. With that generation, the only thing better than having a Triple Eagle in the family is to also have at least one priest. The first gives you a speed dial to the State House so you can piss on the Boston Brahmins on Beacon Hill, while the second provides a direct line to God so you can piss on the devil himself. Whichever you happen to need most at the moment.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie burst out laughing. “Okay, ignoring all notion of pissing… I guess bringing up the BC stuff with Dwyer is like how I talk about </span>
  <em>
    <span>Asopao</span>
  </em>
  <span> recipes with older Puerto Rican folks or </span>
  <em>
    <span>Cachupa</span>
  </em>
  <span> stew with the Cape Verde ladies. It gives me an </span>
  <em>
    <span>in</span>
  </em>
  <span> because I took the time to know something about who they are.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Exactly. And he’ll appreciate that. And probably talk to you, because who doesn’t?” Ryan shrugged. “Oh and by the way Plum, when talking with Dwyer, don’t mention anything about the Winter Hill gang or any of the associated knuckleheads who’ve been in the news over the past few years. The back-channel rumor among the old folks is that Dwyer was affiliated with the other side in the Boston Irish gang war, back in the day. The side that didn’t win. Though he was never officially connected to any of them.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry,” Stephanie nodded knowingly. “I grew up in Trenton New Jersey. I know all about what you say—and don’t say—to mob guys. Just ask Joe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ryan chuckled darkly, “Yeah. Our friend Chief Detective Morelli’s told me a few interesting tales of the bad old days. And I can read between the lines on a couple of his uncles.” Ryan quickly glanced at his watch. “So Plum, I gotta scoot, but one more thing,” he said, his pale eyes earnest. “Your houseguest came up in today’s weekly East Coast Law Enforcement call. Or, at least, the fact that he rescued a couple of kids from a parental kidnapping.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They talked about Ranger?” Stephanie asked hopefully. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“They didn’t mention your friend by name, but I knew who they meant.” Ryan tilted his head, spearing Stephanie with his gaze. “So I looked into Mañoso’s booking records. Rescuing those kids lines up with some of what he claimed at his booking over the weekend. Which could earn the man some bonus points at his hearing, if not before.” Ryan looked down at his gloveless hands. “We all have a soft spot for kids. And though the Feebs didn’t mention it, it’s pretty clear that he was the only one following up on that abduction case.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Looking at her boss, Stephanie was reminded of Ryan’s background. He’d never shared it with Stephanie, but she’d heard the story of how he’d transferred to Community Relations after years as a uniformed officer on the streets. Apparently he and his partner had intervened in a domestic disturbance, only to watch helplessly as a boy was shot by his addict father. The boy had lived, but Ryan had discovered he couldn’t do the work anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Stephanie started to reach out toward Ryan’s arm, he shrugged, then tilted his chin toward the street. “You got a walk light, Plum.” Ryan turned in-place and angled back in the direction he’d originally been headed. “I’ll send you the address of that bar where Dwyer will be,” he said, over his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, he paused after a step and added, “And because I suspect this has something to do with your friend Mañoso, I’m ignoring the fact that you’re intervening in a bounty case. Just make sure to keep everything within department parameters.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Of course boss,” Stephanie said, appending a soft, “and thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ryan resumed walking. “I’ll let you know when you can thank me, later.” He waved his hand in a loose farewell over his back, and Stephanie turned to the street. After crossing, she felt her phone vibrate with a message from one of her earmarked contacts. Frowning, thinking it was too soon for Ryan to have texted her, she fished in her pocket and pulled out her work cell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stopped in surprise; it was from Winkelsteen in the BPD data annex. “Plum,” it said, “getting results from Q42.” Stephanie searched her memory for which query that had been. Then realized it was the query that Winkelsteen had bet a set of movie tickets would never return results. The one that dug into the underlying holding companies for the English language school in Minnesota, and the various shadowy companies where several graduates had gone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie tapped her phone to look at her schedule for the rest of the day. Then envisioning Winkelsteen’s toothy smile, she texted back. “Yahtzee! Be there after 5.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“B here or B2,” Winkelsteen texted back. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, having learned to translate Winkelsteen into English. “Be here or be square,” she laughed to herself as she juggled her phone back into her pocket. Walking toward her meeting, Stephanie couldn’t help but grin. Not only did Stephanie have a movie date in her future, thanks to Winkelsteen, she might have yet another answer for Ranger by tonight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She wasn’t worried anymore about the weekend.  </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0030"><h2>30. Taking Care of Business</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 30: Taking Care of Business</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost two hours before Ranger was finished with his final sweep of all the informants he’d cultivated while tracking Figueroa over the past two weeks. Now back in his truck, Ranger took off his knit cap and his gloves. He’d basically confirmed his suspicion: that Figueroa was taking flight. When spotted, the man had been uncharacteristically hurried. For the most part, though, Figueroa hadn’t been seen since the last time Ranger had checked. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though frustrating to follow a trail for the purpose of confirming absence of his target, it was very necessary work. People were creatures of habit, even bad guys, and it was important to confirm that they’d changed their usual routines and whereabouts before diverting to a new path. Ranger was too good at misdirection, himself, to be fooled into following evidence of a new path without first double-checking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, frankly, it was the type of work he’d normally peel off for Zero or Manny to do, while Ranger himself started tracking his target’s possible new paths. It was just more efficient that way. But, he still felt in his gut that he’d been right to shield his usual hires from this particular job; Manny, Zero, and even Vince were too well known to the alphabet agencies. If something truly went wrong on this one, Ranger wanted to localize the damage to himself. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tilting his head, Ranger realized that he could have given more of today’s work to Gerry, since the younger man wasn’t a known associate of Ranger. He might have, if he’d met Gerry two weeks ago upon arriving in Boston, rather than just this week. That would have been long enough to test Gerry’s reliability and to introduce the younger man to the contacts Ranger had cultivated. Hell, Gerry could have made his own contacts and could have done almost all of this afternoon’s round of confirmations instead of Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well of course, Ranger thought with a sour pull to his lips, Ranger only knew Gerry because of Stephanie. And he’d only just reencountered Stephanie last weekend, in a goddamned interrogation room. So the only way he’d have met Gerry earlier was if he had kept his dumb ass in contact with Stephanie over the past few years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Which might have changed the past several years in ways Ranger couldn’t even imagine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Being around Stephanie for only a few days already felt like being home in ways he’d honestly forgotten. The simple rhythms of everyday life, meshed with other people, were like the backbeat to a song he’d repressed. Or walled away, along with a longing that thrummed in his blood at the same time it took his breath away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He remembered the feeling now: in Trenton he’d suspected that it was a distraction. A weakness. Ranger scowled because, back then, he’d been correct about that, while being totally wrong. He hadn’t yet figured out why the longings were laced with pain.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, in Trenton he’d known that his feelings were directed toward a woman who wasn’t his. But that was nothing new for Ranger. His own brother had chided him often enough in recent years that Ranger couldn’t bring women home for the holidays and make their mother happy because Ranger’s longer-term women tended to be married to other men.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But more importantly, at the point when Ranger had first known Stephanie he’d just been… out of balance. Uncentered. He truly had needed time away to lay his ghosts to rest. It wasn’t noble; not a goddamned quest for greater good or purity of self. No, his escape from Trenton had been like pulling the eject lever on a fighter plane. An inelegant, sudden necessity that kept one alive even if landing tangled in a parachute inside enemy territory. Yeah, he’d been flying low altitude on fumes and confusion and anger for too long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But it was a goddamned Catch-22. If Ranger had stayed in contact with Stephanie as the man he’d been, he’d probably still be the same mixed-up asshole he’d been then. Still playing the strings of her emotions to keep his own safe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a twinge of light-headedness under his darkening mood, Ranger inhaled full-stop. Then, shaking his head to clear his thoughts, Ranger pulled the vending machine granola bar from his pocket and reached for a bottle of water from the back-seat floor behind him. At least this was something he had learned over time: blood sugar was a bitch that was a little too friendly with Ranger’s worse temper. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Gazing at the half of the granola bar remaining in his hand, Ranger exhaled in ironic amusement. He could almost hear his Abuelo Santos’ mahogany voice giving a peasant’s advice: “When you’re hungry, my stubborn grandson, it’s too late to regret a meal that you turned away yesterday.” It had been one of the many ways the old man had tried to teach the young Ricardo Carlos Mañoso to focus on the here-and-now. To stop rehashing the past and look to his options in the present, and for the future. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, Ranger had been as pigheaded then as now, but the advice had sunk in. As though his abuelo could see him now, Ranger saluted the air with his granola bar before biting down again. After all, as an adult Ranger was excellent at adapting to the current situation, taking what was available, and creating a new strategy while others were still reacting to the old plan.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, new strategy: Stephanie. Amazingly, Ranger seemed to have another chance with her. The same woman who’d fascinated, vexed, and frankly confused the fuck out of him years ago. The same woman who’d captivated him from the start by just accepting him at face value, and by pushing back on his bullshit. The same woman whose smile could brighten his mood, whose kisses were like promises. Ranger felt himself smile, remembering how nice it was to enjoy kissing someone, to enjoy kissing </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stephanie</span>
  </em>
  <span>, as its own pleasure.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And this time, she felt like a partner. An equal. Not the Bombshell Bounty Hunter who stayed alive through instinct and luck—and by having someone like Ranger willing to drop everything to rescue her again and again. She was a woman who seemed to know herself. Who, as Joe had forced Ranger to see, didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>need</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ranger to be a hero anymore. She didn’t need </span>
  <em>
    <span>Batman</span>
  </em>
  <span>. But if he was reading the signals right, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to have </span>
  <em>
    <span>him</span>
  </em>
  <span> in her life. She seemed to see him, and want him, as a man. As </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span>.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling warmth suffuse him, Ranger nodded. The first step was simply to be there. To find ways to be part of her life, even after this current job was over. Ranger tipped his head. He’d already figured out part of this, though hadn’t realized it at the time. He could simply take more jobs in Boston and New England. Alex had already given Ranger a tip that the local FBI might hire him. And he knew he could get PI work here, and corporate investigations. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>WIth that, Ranger spooled back his thoughts to his evaluation of Gerry earlier in the afternoon. The man was proving to be the type of person who Ranger might hire under normal circumstances. Someone he could train; a good asset. Tapping his fingers on his steering wheel, Ranger nodded. It was worth looking into Gerry’s legal history to see if the younger man could get a Private Investigator’s licence in Massachusetts. Not a necessity, though helpful.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the meantime, he was curious to see what Gerry would find in the bag of trash Ranger had given him at the gas station. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, unless Gerry found something truly unexpected, something that Ranger had absolutely missed, it looked like the action was moving back down the coast. Finally, though, Ranger felt like he had flushed out Figueroa; that Ranger was driving the man’s movement, not just tracking him. Beyond that, Figueroa’s movement could now be correlated with someone else: Stephanie’s skip, Fennelly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That gave Ranger an edge he hadn’t had until now. And, Ranger grinned with predatory economy, Fennelly was a bail skip. Stephanie had bond apprehension paperwork. And Ranger had a license to apprehend in all the East Coast states.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s smile faded as he realized was going to be on the road again soon. Ranger sat back, both hands now idly tapping the steering wheel. Honestly, this job was getting old. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Of course, he was viscerally looking forward to resolving this case. Rescuing the boys he’d set out to find had given Ranger the first deeply-satisfying taste. And there was, as always, the pure satisfaction of getting the job done, figuring out the final pieces, and having the perp in handcuffs where he belonged. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, in this case, Ranger’s skin still prickled with certainty that Figueroa was part of something bigger, something ominous. His instincts told him that Figueroa was the weak link that would unravel it all. Ranger would take special pleasure at getting him to talk, at stopping whatever the man had planned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And of course, Ranger was personally and professionally looking forward to apprehending the sonofabitch who’d dropped him in Allston last weekend and framed him for a faked gang hit. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused. All that aside, though, he was weary of being on the road. It had been months. Here in Boston, with Stephanie, he'd enjoyed the feeling of being at rest. For the first time in years, Ranger simply missed being at </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Drawing his brows together, Ranger realized that his mind had flashed to Stephanie’s house, not his own apartment, as he’d thought of home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning back, Ranger picked up his phone and pulled up the app that showed him video feeds. After typing his security key to view the thumbnails of his camera sources, Ranger idly noted that his car cam outside of Geary’s seemed offline. Probably the battery in the piece of crap Chevy had died. Well, Ranger shrugged, he probably didn't need that camera anymore.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tapping the screen, Ranger switched to the security view of his apartment in SoHo. Light filtered through the windows in the top-floor loft. In this view, which revealed the main room and front entrance, everything was in good order. The furniture was exactly where he’d left it, looking like the showroom of the designer he’d hired to buy the furniture, rugs, and lighting.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He liked this apartment better than the space he’d had designed for him at Rangeman in Trenton; the SoHo loft was more open, with more wood and brick. The space combined with the furnishings felt more masculine, to Ranger. Less meterosexual. Ranger snorted quietly; it had definitely been a good idea to hire a different designer. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The angular arrangement of the space and restrained color conformed to his sense of balance... and disguised that the layout doubled as a line of defense against unexpected intrusion from the door or windows. In a semi-circle, the leather sectional pieces were reinforced with kevlar under the upholstery. Weapons were within arms’ reach under the seating. Plus, he’d had Hector build panels of emergency electronics into the cherry-paneled side tables.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But, to the casual eye, it was simply an urban loft with an open floor plan, tasteful furniture, and few clues about who lived there. Even the entertainment center was behind cabinet doors, with no music, games, or movies in sight. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Sitting forward, Ranger switched to the second camera view, which gave a vantage from the front door through the main room and into the open kitchen. Winter sunlight from the arched window in the kitchen brushed the chef’s grade steel appliances and warmed the granite counters. The base of the curved stairs leading to the sleeping platform softened the angles of the kitchen, making them both feel part of the whole. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And again, nothing was out of place. Nothing extra, either by Ranger’s hands or anyone else’s.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was mildly jarring to see his loft from the outside, after months away, and after being in Stephanie’s apartment. He flashed to the time that Vince had stopped by to drop off key evidence for a case. With his ROTC-funded architectural degree, Vince had glanced around and then shook his head. “Boss,” he’d said in a low drawl, “change this all to metal and camo, and you’d have the best Bauhaus bunkhouse in the hemisphere.” Ranger had glared, which had been enough to get Vince to shut up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, after Vince had left, Ranger had gone online to confirm the reference. And now he finally understood it. Of course, the “bunkhouse” part he’d understood right away, and it wasn’t the first time he’d heard it. Ranger’s space was always essential, at right angles, with nothing out of place. Corners tucked, gear stowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He’d objected, though, to the “Bauhaus” characterization. Bauhaus designs looked dated to Ranger. Cold plastic and metal, bent to an industrial simplicity. Angular wooden shapes with long edges smoothed and bent as though forced to yield to the other materials’ pliability. Leather and cloth integrated for design but not necessarily for comfort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>To put it mildly, not a style that Ranger favored.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But now Ranger could see that he’d been missing the point. Vince had simply been reacting to the modern anonymity of Ranger’s loft, the essential nature of the fittings and furniture that, in the video feed in Ranger’s hand, suddenly looked staged and lifeless against the loft’s warm brickwork and its tall, classic arched windows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Switching to the final view, of Ranger’s sleeping area, Ranger exhaled a soft laugh. Finally, a bit of disorder. Of course, it was where his youngest sister Carlota had obviously rummaged to pull together his backup documentation to send him, and later some of his clothes. And, having a temporary alarm code to his apartment, she’d apparently taken a bit of time to snoop, as well. Ranger shrugged; it wasn’t as though he hadn’t expected it. Carlota was as curious as Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lips relax into a quiet smile as he remembered spotting evidence of Stephanie’s slim fingers in the nooks and crannies of his old apartment on Haywood Street. A drawer not quite fully closed, a T-shirt with a crinkled corner, a book whose spine was not quite flush with the others. The slight ruffled edge along his black silk boxers… Ranger grinned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And realized that the thought of returning after this job to his loft, whose only signs of life were from his sister, left him feeling resigned. Empty. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled. Stephanie had reminded him—several times now—that they could keep in touch by phone. And that with only minimal encouragement from him, Stephanie would make sure of it. But it wasn’t the same.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s recent musings on restructuring his business to take on more Private Investigation work came into new focus. He himself had a PI license in Massachusetts, and all the New England states. As did Manny and Vince. And Zero, if interested, could get one. And his existing clientele in New York and New Jersey weren’t too far away. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning back, Ranger called one of the many phone numbers he knew without even having to think. After the second ring, he was on the verge of ending the call when it suddenly was answered.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Manuel Ramos here,” Manny’s voice affirmed on the other end, a bit more forcefully than usual. “And if this is another call about my wife’s Dolce &amp; Gabbana bill, look at your freaking records because she’s my ex-wife, stress on the </span>
  <em>
    <span>‘</span>
  </em>
  <span>ex,’ and her credit cards are totally in her name.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Ranger said, his lips pulled in speculative humor. “But if I recall correctly, didn’t I advise you to not marry Mackenzie in the first place?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>“</span>
  </em>
  <span>Yo </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jefe,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” Manny’s voice came over the speaker. “Bossman, why you gotta remind me of that right now?” Manny laughed, softening his complaint. “But yeah, okay, when you’re right, you’re right. I should’ve known better than to marry someone I met while on bodyguard duty at her daddy’s country club. Live and learn, huh? School of hard knocks finally getting through a man’s thick skull long enough to pay attention.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“One way of putting it,” Ranger exhaled, nodded ruefully even though Manny couldn’t see him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So enough chit-chat,” Manny said. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Qué más</span>
  </em>
  <span>, dude</span>
  <em>
    <span>?</span>
  </em>
  <span> What’s up? Got a job for me?” Manny asked, his voice again full of the youthful enthusiasm that Ranger remembered from when he’d first hired Manny as a young man back in Trenton. Shortly before Manny had been shot by that asshole Scrog.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Ranger could answer, Manny continued, “Tell me you do. I mean, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but things have been so slow lately I took a night-shift job at Lowe’s to save up for Christmas. I’m King of the Third Shift Forklifts.” Manny declared theatrically as though standing with his hands wide on the bow of the Titanic. Ranger shook his head, regretting the day he’d watched that movie as an attempted bonding experience with his daughter Julie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently, though, he wasn’t the only grown man who’d seen that movie. There were at least two. Ranger wasn’t sure if he was relieved, or not.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Laughing over the phone, Manny confided, “But </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jefe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I’d give up that mighty forklift-filled kingdom in a heartbeat to do something real,” Manny’s snort was audible. “And frankly, to get out of Albany for a while. Because living with the folks again? Yeah, I’m saving money that I’m probably gonna have to use for therapy fairly soon.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Don’t have anything at the minute,” Ranger answered, feeling an unexpected beat of regret. “But I might, in the new year.” Ranger inhaled, drawing his energy inward. “I’ve been thinking about taking on more of those low-level PI type jobs I get offered all the time. More of the investigation and surveillance work; fewer of the long-haul federal jobs and apprehensions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah?” Manny answered, a deeper question clear in his voice.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranger answered. “Way I figure it, with the number of inquiries I get, it could be a steady income fairly quickly. And I could probably drum up enough work for two or three others without much effort.” Ranger glanced up, his eyes effortlessly following a pattern that checked his mirrors and verified that nothing unexpected had appeared in his periphery. “So, you still got all your East Coast PI licenses?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All of them from Delaware and Maryland on up, including Pennsylvania but not Maine. I let the southern states lapse since I wasn’t working down there, but if you sponsored me again I’m sure I could get those back.” With a chuckle, Manny added, “And Maine too, despite the ex in-laws living there. And hey, I’d even study, this time.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s brow angled upward as he began to wonder if there was an obvious flaw with his plan. Like the fact that he was now contemplating having regular business interactions with two people—Gerry and Manny—who didn’t seem as intimidated by Ranger as he thought they should be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he shrugged. Despite that, Manny was very good at what he did. And Gerry was showing signs of it. No matter, Ranger frowned, working with Manny and Gerry would still be better than it had been to work with his cousin Lester. Now there was someone who not only didn’t show much in the way of deference to Ranger; he also had the glaring misapprehension that he should get special treatment and better assignments because he was a relative. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Lester had been a goddamned pain in his ass at Rangeman, if Ranger was being honest. He’d been on the verge of firing his cousin a couple times, but the prospect of explaining it to their Abuela Rosa had stayed Ranger’s hand. Finally, he’d assigned his cousin to Tank, who’d set Lester straight. Well, as straight as someone like Lester Santos could be.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jefe</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Manny’s voice sliced through Ranger’s thoughts. “When do I start? I can pack my bags yesterday, or even a week ago.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, not so fast,” Ranger answered. “I’m on a job right now that I have to wrap up first.” He paused. Then, in a low voice, Ranger added, “I’m targeting by the end of November, or early December at the latest.” Had to be then, one way or the other, due to the hearing coming up for that goddamned Dorchester gang shooting. The one for which he was out on bail. “After that, I’ll have a better idea of what’s possible. So don’t surrender your forklift crown just yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Are you sure? Need any help with your current job? Not that stocking doorknob protectors and fiberglass bathtubs is getting old, or anything. But, for the right price, I’ll even get coffee and clean firearms nightly to military standards.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger answered flatly. Then, hearing the hope in Manny’s comments, Ranger amended, “The job I’m on now is a cock-up. I don’t want to get anyone else sucked into it.” Ranger looked down at his knuckles, noting that most of the bruises were gone. “Manny, just spend the next couple of months earning Christmas money for your daughters, and we’ll work on the rest afterward.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger made a mental note to make year-end deposits into the college funds he’d secretly set up for Manny’s daughters and Zero’s son, along with those for his nieces and nephews. He added a note to also set up funds for Stephanie’s daughters Sarah and Lisa. And to look into whether he could provide any help for Mary Alice’s college expenses in the coming year. Perhaps he could fund an internship at that college radio station she’d mentioned. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger knew that, like Manny and Zero, Stephanie was proud enough to not take handouts. But helping behind the scenes… well, Ranger wasn’t doing it for the credit. And, after all, he had more than enough money to share. Hell, he had enough money that he didn’t actually need to work anymore, if he was the type of person who liked to sit on his ass all day.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Manny answered, more soberly this time. “I hear you. I’ll stay put. But, should I give my brother advance notice that I might be moving back into our apartment in Jersey?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked up as an image of Stephanie’s knowing smile flashed into his mind’s eye. “Some of our jobs will likely be there, but I don’t know yet.” Ranger took a breath, feeling an echo of the strange sensation he’d had before his first high altitude jump in the Army. That his lungs were a little too full even though he needed more oxygen. That time was slowing even while the plane hurled through the air.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well, guess it’s time to jump, soldier,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ranger thought wryly. “Manny, how would you feel if we were more based in Boston than New York?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Manny paused. “Boston? Well, we used to do jobs there, back when Rangeman had that satellite office in Boston’s financial district. It was okay. Not as hectic as New York, same crappy winters, lots of bars, a bit closer to my daughters in freaking Kennebunk,” Manny spoke slowly in the way he usually did as he processed ideas. Then his voice brightened over the phone as he added, “And so much better than Albany.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corner of Ranger’s lip tilted upward, though he knew Manny wasn’t done. Manny wasn’t one of Ranger’s best bloodhounds for nothing.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, yeah Bossman, I could deal with Boston. But, why?” Manny confirmed Ranger’s expectations. “I didn’t think you even went there anymore. I mean, you’re based in Manhattan, a regular </span>
  <em>
    <span>neoyorquino</span>
  </em>
  <span>, a real New Yorker. You even sold the Boston Rangeman office because you thought the city didn’t have enough to offer. That it wasn’t interesting enough.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I seem to remember hearing something about ‘live and learn’ earlier.” Ranger said, projecting an offhand, lightly ironic tone. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Manny said. “Now I know there’s something up if you’re quoting </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> as your explanation. Just tell me so I can prepare: is there a hit squad waiting for you in New York, or did you find a beautiful New England </span>
  <em>
    <span>compañera</span>
  </em>
  <span> to brighten your days and warm your nights?” Manny’s voice teased in a way that Ranger knew he wouldn’t dare, in person.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Those are the only two options you could imagine?” Ranger asked, dryly.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The only two that make sense, under the circumstances. Well, until I do a little digging. Because, as I mentioned, working at Lowe’s and living with </span>
  <em>
    <span>mis padres</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the house where I grew up is very, very boring.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, don’t go digging,” Ranger exhaled, trying to remember how long it had taken to open that parachute on his first high altitude jump. “At least, not while I’m still on this job.” Ranger shifted in his seat. “The fact is, it’s door number two. I ran into someone from the past, and I’m thinking of trying again to see where it will go.”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I knew it!” Manny crowed while Ranger imagined the man victoriously punching his free fist in the air. “But… is it Jeanne Ellen? I thought she was in Houston doing the girlfriend-as-bodyguard gig for rich old guys.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, not Jeanne Ellen,” Ranger was glad nobody could see him rolling his eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, is it Nia, the one who went to London for her modeling career? Or Inga, the one who had that awesome red Fiat?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No,” Ranger intoned, “and I wasn’t aware that you were keeping a list,” he said in a quiet, dangerous voice. Then Ranger shook his head. “If you must know, and it gets us out of ‘Twenty Questions,’ it’s Stephanie Plum.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh wow,” Manny’s voice smiled. “Stephanie’s in Boston? That’s awesome news, Boss. I had wondered what happened to her.” Manny’s voice lowered, “I hope it works out. She seemed like a nice person, full of energy, and always willing to help. And she always had a smile for us guys at Rangemen. Which says a lot, given the hard-cases we had on staff.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, that it does,” Ranger deflected tersely. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Probably alert to Ranger’s ways of changing topics, Manny slipped in, “Of course, I might be biased, since she was married to me that whole night in St. Francis Hospital, after I was shot that time. But of course, since I’m sure you’re wondering, I give my blessing to you two crazy kids.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s eyes narrowed at the humor in the man’s voice. “Manuel,” he said, his voice low in warning. Then Ranger leaned back and waited, seated in muscular calm like a puma waiting to see whether the deer who had just spotted him would dart, or would prove its worth by staring him down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The silence lapsed for perhaps a minute, until Manny’s matter-of-fact voice resumed over the phone. “Okay, seriously Boss. I can hear the throwing-knives whizzing my way in the silence. But here’s the truth. I do remember Stephanie and that she always stepped in to help you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded silently as Manny continued, “I mean, I was in the hospital that time because I got shot by that asshole who abducted your daughter. But it was part of the job description. Stephanie, on the other hand, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>volunteered</span>
  </em>
  <span> to get kidnapped to help get your daughter back. And continued even </span>
  <em>
    <span>after</span>
  </em>
  <span> I got shot. She didn’t do that for money, or just because she’s brave even though I think she is. She did that for you, man.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Manny cleared his throat. “So yeah, it’s not my business, but having a woman on your side who cares, who </span>
  <em>
    <span>believes</span>
  </em>
  <span> in you, and is brave for you… well, it’s a lucky man who finds that kind of partner. That’s something that can get a man through almost any difficulties.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So I’ve heard,” Ranger conceded as he looked around, checking his perimeter and noting that it was a bit later than he’d planned. Nodding again, Ranger acknowledged, “I hear what you’re saying.” Then after a brief pause for closure, Ranger concluded, “Well anyhow, don’t quit your job or hesitate to pick up something else. But, I’ll be in touch and we’ll see what we can work out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jefe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Roger and out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded once as the call ended. In the quiet of his truck, Ranger suddenly felt as though that long-ago Army parachute had finally opened, harshly yanking him upward like the hand of a deity snatching him in rough grace from freefall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shook his head at his own imagination. It had obviously been a long day. And, in fact, as Ranger glanced again through the window, he could see that the sky had darkened to a gunmetal blue, starting to shade into an early winter’s evening. Ranger had forgotten that Boston was just enough north of Manhattan that, in the short days of winter, the hints of night came that much earlier. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still holding his phone, Ranger texted Gerry, who replied that he was ready to share what he’d gleaned from the trash Ranger had left him earlier in the day. Ranger entered into his GPS the name of the bar that Gerry suggested and started his truck. Rolling his shoulders to loosen them, Ranger made a decision. Time for one more call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The sound of the ringing phone echoed on his truck’s speaker as Ranger pulled into traffic. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Stephanie’s voice picked up, a bit breathless. “Hi Rick,” she added, her voice like quiet velvet. Ranger felt himself flush uncharacteristically.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” he answered, like he was back in high school calling a girl but not quite knowing how to start the conversation. So it was a good thing that the female in question was Stephanie, since she had never had a problem with conversation on the phone in all the time Ranger could remember.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey,” she echoed back as Ranger heard a door close in the background. “In case you ever wonder, janitor’s closets are great phone booths if you don’t mind hanging out with a mop and industrial sized Windex bottles. Oh, and geez, a lightbulb with a string that tangles in your hair.” Ranger heard clattering as Stephanie spoke. “Well, this one’s better than the paper supply closet in the downtown precinct building, which has a light that turns off after three minutes so you have to keep opening the door while you’re on the phone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, good to know,” Ranger answered, feeling his lips tilt in a smile as he recalled that Stephanie had always known the odd nooks and crannies in buildings. And now he had an inkling of why she’d developed that skill in the first place. Well, that and curiosity, which Stephanie had in abundance.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So anyway,” she continued, rapid-fire. “I know you’re probably between stops so here’s my update. I talked to Ryan, my boss. And, you know what?” Stephanie’s voice lifted in excitement. “This morning was the weekly law enforcement check-in call with state and federal. And, what’s cool is that your rescue of those two boys yesterday made it to the closed case discussion list.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Really?” Ranger asked, his brows creasing together as he considered the implications.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, I guess they didn’t identify you specifically in the call, but somehow Ryan found out it was you. Maybe because you’re in the system for that stupid frame-up… I don’t really know. But, the detectives working the case know it was you, now, also. So that gives them even more encouragement to work harder on finding out who </span>
  <em>
    <span>really</span>
  </em>
  <span> staged that gang shooting, which it’s obvious you didn’t do,” Stephanie concluded righteously.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lip twitched with amusement. Having seen Stephanie in the past as she’d worked to correct what she considered injustices, Ranger silently calculated exactly how long it had taken her to call the detectives working that shooting case to </span>
  <em>
    <span>encourage</span>
  </em>
  <span> them to work harder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stephanie continued her narrative. “But I kinda took myself off track there. The main point is that I talked with Ryan about Joe’s tip from last night. That our skip, Fennelly, seems to be related to a guy named Aidan Dwyer. Ryan knew exactly who I meant. He said that the BPD had talked to Dwyer, already, in trying to track down Fennelly.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No luck?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, I guess Dwyer stonewalled the detectives big time. He’s one of those old guys who’s been just under the radar, evading the system for decades. But, Ryan agreed that if anyone could get him to talk, it would be me. Because who doesn’t talk to me, right?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger kept his answer to an affirmative grunt as he decided to not mention that, as often happened with Ranger, Stephanie was the one who was actually doing all the talking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Anyway Ranger. I mean Rick... I guess Ryan has relatives whose kids were in the same parish school as some of Dwyer’s grandchildren. Or they did communion together, or something like that. Anyway, Ryan made a few calls, and gave me the name of a pub where we could meet Dwyer tomorrow afternoon. It’s near the Savin Hill MBTA stop. I’ve never been there, but Ryan is getting me the address. Since tomorrow’s Saturday, we can go together.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger said. “You know I don’t want to get your name mixed up in this case that I’m on. I can meet him on my own.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” she huffed, the sound of rolling eyes practically audible over the phone. “Fennelly is a Boston skip. It makes more sense for me, as a member of the Boston Police, to be there than you. Any certifiable bad guys who check out the situation will assume I’m there because the dude is one of our skips.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Realizing that Stephanie hadn’t self-corrected to call him Rick, Ranger decided to drop the logistics around tomorrow’s pub visit. He had time between now and then to work on persuading Stephanie of the obvious advantages of letting Ranger make the visit on his own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In the meantime he simply said, “Sounds good, Babe. Thanks for following up on that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You’re welcome, Ranger. I mean Rick,” Stephanie answered, the smile back in her tone. Quietly she added, “I always liked it when I could help you. I’m glad I still can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger murmured, recalling how Stephanie had eased some of the empty, wild places in his soul in just this past week. “You help in more ways than you even know.” Ranger paused, savoring the completeness of the sentiment. In the silence, he heard the softness of Stephanie’s inhale over the phone, answered by his exhale.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, seeing that he only had a couple minutes until he reached the place where he was meeting Gerry, Ranger returned to the ulterior reason for his call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” his voice lingered over the word, “unless something really unexpected happens, I’m planning to wrap up my work by around 7pm today. So I wanted to check whether you had plans for dinner tonight.” As he scanned the traffic around him, Ranger forged ahead, “I realized last night that I’d never taken you out for Cuban food or music. Is that something you’d like?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Stephanie breathed. “I’d like that a lot.” Before Ranger could swing into full plan activation, though, she added, “But maybe not tonight, if that’s okay.” Softly she explained, “Friday nights on the weekends when the girls are at the Kloughns are like my ‘New Jersey Mom’ spa nights.” Her quiet laugh practically tickled his ear. “I get to wear my favorite comfy sweats and puffy slippers, Mrs. Arshad always cooks something I like so I have a nice dinner with almost no clean-up, and I watch a movie or two with a glass of wine.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She laughed again. “It’s practically decadent.” Then, in a low voice that Ranger could practically feel along his skin, she asked, “Would you like to share my spa night with me? I’d really like that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, Steph, I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.” And, suddenly Ranger knew that he completely meant it. There was truly nothing he’d rather do, tonight, than spend time with Stephanie. And, selfishly, Ranger remembered that the combination of Stephanie with wine had provided him with some outstanding memories. “Do you need me to bring anything?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, just bring yourself,” her voice practically caressed. “I’ll see you then.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds good, Babe. See you then,” Ranger said as he ended the call. With a small grin, he knew that Stephanie would be intrigued that he had practically, almost said “goodbye” before hanging up. Something to keep her thinking….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger turned the final corner headed toward his meeting with Gerry, the vista opened by the westbound street gave Ranger a sudden glimpse of sunset. Against gray-blue sky, a color that Ranger imagined his sisters would call peach or coral bordered the horizon, threaded with slim bands of white like a promise of the next day’s dawn. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused in his thoughts, realizing that it had been a while since he’d been inclined to view the beauty of the sky, seeing it instead as simply the source of light or darkness of a given day. Yet here, in Boston, he could see it. Thinking of Stephanie, he could appreciate it. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, Ranger remembered that there was one more thing his sister could send to him, now that he had an extra day. He looked at the clock and confirmed: using one of his usual courier services, there was still time for Carlota to retrieve and send his charcoal pants and jacket for Saturday delivery. Ranger smiled. Tonight he’d spend time with Stephanie doing one of her favorite Friday things. Tomorrow, he’d share one of his favorite Saturday things: a night out with a beautiful woman. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Something that Ranger realized he’d never quite done with Stephanie before. Well, it was about goddamned time.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0031"><h2>31. Talking Through It</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 31: Talking Through It</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie stretched as the movie’s credits started, giving serious consideration to whether she actually wanted to get up from the sofa. She gazed at her feet in their fuzzy slippers, perched on the coffee table next to tonight’s dinner dishes in a subtle display of Mom-rule-breaking. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah, I’m a rebel</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought with a giggle. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Huh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Maybe she shouldn’t have drunk that second glass of wine. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, as she debated the virtues of leaving the dishes and remaining on the sofa all night, she felt Ranger stir next to her. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mmm</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was nice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“This is nice Steph,” Ranger echoed in his usual uncanny way as he gently pulled his arm from under her shoulder. Reaching forward, Ranger tapped the toe of Stephanie’s closest slipper, and then started stacking plates. “A relaxing end to a long week.” He looked back over his shoulder to where Stephanie was still seated, arms forward in mid-stretch. With the trace of a smile dusting his lips, he added, “Though I’m stunned to discover that there are movies in the universe other than </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ghostbusters</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>National Lampoon’s Vacation</span>
  </em>
  <span>.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hey mister, that is still classic cinema,” Stephanie exclaimed, aiming a playful slap against Ranger’s arm. “I’ve just expanded my horizons,” Stephanie asserted. “I watch action movies too.” She sat back on the sofa, arms crossed with what she was sure was a smug expression.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, I'm not sure that </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Heat </span>
  </em>
  <span>and...” Ranger paused as he leaned further forward to pick up the small stack of DVD cases, “let’s see here, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Beverly Hills Cop, Paul Blart Mall Cop</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Turner and Hooch</span>
  </em>
  <span> really qualify as action movies, though I am starting see a theme.” Stephanie swore she almost heard him chuckle as he pulled one case from the stack. Ranger glanced back over his shoulder, one eyebrow tilted up in an amused gesture that Stephanie knew very well. “Though </span>
  <em>
    <span>Mr. and Mrs. Smith</span>
  </em>
  <span>, here, might qualify.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” Stephanie exclaimed in mock indignation while gloating inwardly at another opportunity to call Ranger by his given name. “Come on, you saw my DVD collection,” Stephanie continued, while privately affirming that Ranger was even sexier than Brad Pitt had been in the movie Ranger was currently brandishing. Then she couldn’t help giggling at the images her mind suddenly flashed of Ranger starring in some of the other movies in her family’s collection. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s questioning glance, she covered by claiming, “Hey, at least you can thank me for not having to watch </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Sisterhood of the Traveling Pants</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>High School Musical, </span>
  </em>
  <span>or anything with dancing donkeys or singing fish.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger huffed out a laugh as he put down the DVD. “And I do appreciate that,” he said as he started stacking plates on the coffee table. “Although I thought there was some cartoon you were going to show me so I’d understand why Lisa and Sarah were dressed as yellow horse vitamins on Halloween.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted as she leaned forward, reaching for the tray she’d used to bring dinner to the table. “Rick, last time you said they looked like suppositories, not horse vitamins.” As she spoke, the tray’s corner tipped her water and wine glasses. The slight slosh of liquid at the bottom of the latter glass caught Stephanie’s attention. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Huh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, maybe she’d started a third glass of wine.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True,” Ranger agreed while reaching out to stabilize the glasses and pull the tray over to himself. “Somehow it occurred to me that continuing to describe your daughters as suppositories was probably not a winning move.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed outright, unfolding herself from the sofa to stand. “You always were pretty smart.” Stifling a yawn, she added, “But that newly-themed ‘horse vitamin’ movie is a lot more fun when the girls are here. They act out scenes, and Mary Alice and Lisa both talk in the characters’ goofy cartoon language. And if you’re really lucky, Lisa and Sarah will dress up in their costumes like they did last week.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Turning slightly too fast, Stephanie reached her hand out to Ranger’s shoulder to steady herself. Smiling proudly at her good sense, Stephanie proclaimed, “We’ll watch that movie next time we’re all here together; the whole family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sounds good,” Ranger replied after a brief pause, putting his hands on his knees and starting to stand, “Next time Babe,” he added. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand still on Ranger’s shoulder, Stephanie felt the solidity of the exceptional man under the everyday sweater. A man who Stephanie concluded had been working too hard for a long time. With a brief squeeze of her fingers, Stephanie said, “It’s okay Rick, stay put. I can take the dishes into the kitchen.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger relaxed back to the sofa, then shrugged under her hand. “It's late, let me help.” He looked up, and Stephanie could see the hint of amusement in the tilt of his head. “After all, Babe, I’m not the one who finished off the rosé.” At her no-doubt indignant glare, Ranger laughed. “I know, I did bring the wine for you. It’s one I buy in New York for myself, to drink with curries and other spicy food, so I’m glad you liked it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I did. I’d forgotten how well you knew wine. But Rick, really, you should rest. Stay here and choose the next movie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger looked up, the flickering light of the TV screen reflected in his dark eyes. “Steph, I can watch movies any time. But this,” Ranger gestured around the room before reaching up to rest his warm hand lightly on hers. “Spending the evening with you is something I can’t do anywhere else.” His eyes steady on hers, he added, “And I’ve missed it, Steph, I truly have.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too, Rick,” Stephanie answered, as Ranger’s hand clasped hers, against his shoulder. Then, his eyebrow arched extra high, Ranger half leaned to look around her to look pointedly at the coffee table, piled with dinner dishes and the take-out tin that he’d brought dessert in, for the second night in a row.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted. “Okay yeah, I give up, you can help me clear the dinner dishes.” Noting the subtle yet victorious quirk to Ranger’s lips, she squinted. “Though I kinda think there’s, like, a reverse psychology thing here, since I’m not sure why that’s something you </span>
  <em>
    <span>want</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do.” Stephanie squinted. “Unless maybe my movie selection is truly that bad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt rather than heard Ranger’s chuckle as he released his hand from hers. “No Babe, I’m trained in reverse psychology; you’d never notice if I were actually doing it. And your movies are fine. But it’s after midnight.” He inhaled and gazed up. “Besides, you said I’m like family. So, let me help clean up.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> family Rick,” Stephanie squeezed Ranger’s shoulder as she released it. “Dishes or no dishes.” Stephanie turned back to the coffee table, reached forward, and tapped the TV off using the remote control. She smiled as she felt Ranger’s hands hovering near her hips like a cheerleading spotter. As though she’d lose her balance doing something she did all the time. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Sheesh. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Of course, she </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> put her other hand on the table for extra support, like this, when leaning over. It was just common sense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood back up and looked archly at Ranger over her shoulder. “So, you just gonna sit there?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger barked out a laugh, then smoothly stood up beside her. Lips tipped in humor as he reached down for the tray and the dessert tin before Stephanie could reach them, he commented, “You know, my abuelo would’ve slapped me upside the head if I’d sat back and let the women do all the work after dinner.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think I like your abuelo.” Stephanie picked up the other tray and turned toward the kitchen. It was too bad, Stephanie reflected, that Grandpa Plum hadn’t instilled a similar urge in her own father.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“My abuelo would’ve liked you too Steph,” Ranger commented, trailing behind her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie pushed at the kitchen door, which she’d closed earlier out of habit. She glanced toward Ranger about to reply, but the words stuttered from her mind. The reflected lighting cast shadows under Ranger’s eyes, and his stubble was more pronounced. It brought back the tough, grizzled look he’d had when Stephanie had first seen him last week, in the interrogation room. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she turned on the kitchen light, Stephanie mused that Ranger’s so-called five o’clock shadow was more apparent now that silver bristles were lightly salted throughout it. She didn’t remember ever really noticing his beard in Trenton. It had been more like a darkened expression of the hard man that he was. It was another reminder that this Ranger was a man who was a bit rough around the edges with experience. A man who’d seen a lot more of the gray and dark portions of the world. A man who looked a bit tired.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>A man who’d chosen to spend his evening with her, even though he was obviously under a deadline to solve the case he was on. A man whose bruises had mostly faded, and who had more information to follow than he’d had a week ago.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I see smoke Babe,” Ranger interrupted Stephanie’s thoughts as he put down the tray and then reached over to open the dishwasher.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nibbled her lip briefly. “Yeah… I was remembering.” She watched while Ranger turned to open the refrigerator and pull out a bottle of water. Idly, she noticed that there was still some flan left in the carryout tin. How did that happen? Stephanie started to lean in that direction when Ranger’s voice interrupted her thoughts. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Remembering what?” Ranger asked while opening the water bottle he’d retrieved from the fridge. As she considered her answer, Ranger handed the water to her with a nod. “Drink this Babe,” he murmured. “You’ll feel better tomorrow if you do.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nibbled her lip briefly, then took a sip. “Thanks Rick. I was just remembering that it was a week ago tonight that Joe called and I went down to the station to see you.” She looked at the clock on the stove. “This is almost the exact time that I left the precinct and drove back home.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger gazed at her, his familiar quiet expression letting Stephanie know that he was waiting to hear what she had to say, so she continued. “It seems like yesterday, but in a way it’s like you’ve always been here since the beginning. Like if I looked carefully I’d see you in pictures around the house.” Stephanie waved her free hand as though it could assemble her thoughts from the air around her. “Even so, you’re still you, and I’m still me, but…But a lot of time has passed. You’re Ranger, but you’re Rick too. And I’m a soccer mom with a retirement account.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie recognized the vaguely perplexed expression on Ranger’s face: it was the one that took everything in now and saved it for future evaluation after the pieces fit. So, she tried one more time. “I guess, Rick, what I’m saying is that you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> family, no matter what. But we’ve been away from each other for a long time so we have a lot of catching up to do. We’re starting over; at the same time, we </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> each other already.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She bit gently on her lip. “Like... who knew we’d both have kids in college before I’d actually know your real name?”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Need to know Babe,” he answered, eyebrow cocked.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Hearing Ranger chuckle under his breath, Stephanie mumbled something about how right Ranger’s abuelo had been to occasionally slap his grandson’s head. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shifted his shoulder in tacit acknowledgement. “Another reason my abuelo would’ve liked you, Steph. But you’re right that I never imagined we’d be having a conversation that included daughters in college,” Ranger commented as he turned on the faucet, “Speaking of, how is Angie? I remember her, though not as well as Mary Alice. I think you said she’s at Wellesley?” Ranger rinsed a plate and handed it to Stephanie as he spoke. “That’s not an easy school to get into.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Trying to not be distracted by the fact that Ranger—whose muscular frame, cargo pants, and ever-present side holster made him look like an advertisement in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Soldier of Fortune</span>
  </em>
  <span> magazine—was casually leading the process of loading the dishwasher, Stephanie glanced at Angie’s picture on the fridge. “That’s where she wanted to go. Either there or Smith College. She had the grades, and was a girl on a mission. She did the research herself. We had college articles and scholarship forms piled on the kitchen table for a few months when she was a junior in high school.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  
  <span>“She sounds focused,” Ranger commented, as he handed Stephanie another dish. </span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, though it’s mostly that she wants to prove herself. She’s been that way all along. Well, especially since Val died.” She kept talking as Ranger passed her another dish to load. “But I'm really proud of her. And impressed. I mean, at her age, I had no idea what I wanted to do.” She looked around the kitchen, as though looking for eavesdroppers, and then half-whispered. “I'm still kinda figuring it out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger glanced over while loading a rinsed glass directly into the dishwasher. “From what I see, you've got a lot figured out.” He resumed rinsing. “Mary Alice mentioned something about Angie having a scholarship. Is she doing okay? Does it cover everything?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie remembered to take another drink of water, then glanced up at Ranger. “Well, it’s one of those endowed scholarships that old-money schools like Wellesley apparently have. Of course, she has to keep her grades up and participate in at least one extracurricular activity that the school approves. But, for her, that's like the cherry on top of the sundae.” As Ranger stacked the final rinsed glass in the rack, Stephanie rolled her eyes. “Scholastic achievement… definitely not something she got from the Plum side of the family.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled a laugh. “Says the woman who graduated in the top ninety-eight percent of her class at Douglass.” He turned off the faucet. “But seriously, you’re about to have two daughters in college. I only have one, and am still trying to figure out why there’s all the extra itemized fees and assessments on her tuition bill.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know!” Stephanie exclaimed, her enthusiasm rising to the topic. “I swear they make those up. My favorite one in the last bill was the intramural enrichment fee. No, actually it was the student empowerment fee. Like what the heck is that for?” Stephanie’s arms raised in a questioning flourish that was cut short by the feeling of water splashing on her wrist from the bottle in her hand. Shaking her head as she brought her arms down again, Stephanie concluded, “But they’re all like two dollars, so even though they’re stupid sounding, they’re affordable.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True,” Ranger concurred with a thoughtful look on his face. Stephanie pondered briefly why the discussion of piddly fees on Angie’s and Julie’s tuition bills seemed to put Ranger into his strategy zone. Then he interrupted her thoughts with a measured shake of the silverware in his hand. “Points up or points down, Steph?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” Stephanie felt her eyebrows wrinkle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The silverware. Which direction do you load them? Fork points down into the bin?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I never knew that was a choice. I just throw them in and let God sort them out. Actually, I let Mary Alice and Lisa sort them out when they empty the dishwasher. But, you know what I mean.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled. “I do indeed,” he said as he started loading the silverware, rapidfire, one-by-one into the dishwasher bin. Points down, Stephanie noted, sharp edges into the silverware holster. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good to know.</span>
  </em>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he closed the dishwasher door, Ranger’s voice casually continued. “Mary Alice said she has a scholarship, too. And that she’s planning to live at home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie felt her eyebrows do their wrinkly thing again, though this time it was due to her tingling sense that Ranger’s offhand questioning was something more. She just didn’t know what.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yup,” she answered, enunciating the “p.” Finishing off the water, she aimed the plastic bottle at the recycling bin. It clanked off the side, as often happened. Walking over to pick it up, she added, “And yes, it’s what Mary Alice wants, and I think it will be a good arrangement for her, and my savings account hasn’t started looking at me cross-eyed. So it’s all good.” Stephanie took a moment for a fist pump as she dunked the errant water bottle into the bin. She would not be denied. “Why do you ask?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Just curious Babe,” Ranger answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh.” Stephanie turned to look at Ranger as he leaned with his back against the cabinet. His hands rested on either side, looking relaxed against the counter, but his posture was anything but casual and his expression was unreadable. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ah yes</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. She and Ranger </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> know each other.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she’d recognize this particular stare-down anywhere. There was something going on behind those studiously impassive eyes. Something he didn’t want to say. Well, roundabout conversation that got people to finally say what was on their minds was a Stephanie Plum specialty. Time to change the topic.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So Rick,” she said, drifting back toward the counter, though at the other end from Ranger. “I forgot to mention, earlier, that I might have to go to the downtown BPD station briefly, tomorrow. I started one more search in that secure database we have.” At Ranger’s nod, she added, “Since my query today gave us the names from when they incorporated that ESL school, I’m looking to see if I find those people elsewhere.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good idea Steph.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie preened slightly at Ranger’s words, then smiled to herself. It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> a good idea. “I think, Rick, that the name from my search that caught your attention—Piccolo Lupo—sounded familiar from earlier this week.” Rolling her eyes, Stephanie added, “And it’s gotta be an alias because what Italian would name their kid </span>
  <em>
    <span>Small Wolf.</span>
  </em>
  <span>” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Though, Stephanie admitted to herself, a more menacing name like Brutto Lupo, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ugly Wolf</span>
  </em>
  <span>, would be equally goofy. And even an American name didn’t always help; after all, to anyone who spoke Jersey Italian, Eddie DeChooch was still </span>
  <em>
    <span>Eddie of the Idiot Family</span>
  </em>
  <span>. A name that was oddly apt….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger interrupted her thoughts with a curious glint in his eyes. “I had let myself forget, but you really have a way….” He looked up into her eyes, and Stephanie felt almost as though she was in his arms, even though they were yards apart, on opposite ends of the counter.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you haven’t lost your touch,” Ranger continued, his voice low. “Because I do recognize that name, Piccolo Lupo. Tomorrow I’m going to have to call some of my contacts to verify if it’s who I think it is.” Ranger looked down briefly, then back at Stephanie. “But if it is, you’re getting into some very dangerous names, so just keep being careful.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick, we’ve covered this,” Stephanie replied, ignoring the beat of impatience that tapped against her consciousness. Reminding herself that Ranger’s experiences made his concern quite reasonable, Stephanie added, “I am careful these days. You don’t have to keep reminding me.” With asperity, she added, “I haven’t been stalked or shot at for almost eight years, and since I work for the cops I’ve had ample opportunity for mayhem.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “Yeah Steph, I know,” he admitted quietly. Stephanie waited, knowing that Ranger had more to say. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” he finally said, “that name, plus a few other recent leads, tells me that I’m going to be back on the road soon. Maybe as soon as Sunday.” He swallowed, and Stephanie watched the rise and fall of his Adam’s apple, marveling at how masculine and expressive that simple gesture was, when it was Ranger. When it was </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He was watching her again, but this time she could read the regret in his expression, and what looked almost like discomfort in his posture. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I understand Rick,” Stephanie wet her lower lip with her tongue. “That guy you’re following, Figueroa, gives me the spidey tingles, big time. I’d rather you could be here, but you have to solve that case.” Then, lifting her chin, she asserted, “And we have to prove that you were framed in Dorchester.” Proudly, she added, “After hearing about your rescue of the two boys yesterday, the BPD believes you, Rick.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s lip tipped upward. “Thanks Babe, but I think it’s more like </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> believe me, and a couple of your coworkers are inclined to agree. The judge at my hearing, though, won’t take that into account.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well they should!” she objected. And at that moment, Stephanie resolved that she’d attend that hearing, making it clear that she was on Ricardo Mañoso’s side. If the hearing was in front of any of the judges who’d been in chamber for any of the community cases where Stephanie had been involved… well, her support for Rick had to tell the judge something, didn’t it? Of course it did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing Ranger’s offhand shrug, she asserted, “Anyhow, we’re going to figure it out. I’ll keep helping as I can, you know that.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it, Steph. And I’ve truly appreciated your help on this case. More than you know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Glaring, she warned, “You’d better stay in touch so I know how you’re doing. And so I can </span>
  <em>
    <span>keep</span>
  </em>
  <span> helping you,” she stressed the last few words, sensing a tone of closure in Ranger’s voice. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I hear you Steph,” Ranger nodded his acceptance after a pause. “I will.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>This time it was Stephanie’s turn to swallow. “And Rick, well, I really want to keep in touch after this case is solved, too. I don’t want to lose this; it’s been so nice having you here….” She looked down. “I don’t know what you think—you know, since we’re starting over again and all—but I’d like to see you more. I have these weekends, like this one. I could come visit you sometimes. When I don’t have ‘mom’ obligations.” She was practically whispering at the end. “I missed you so much.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger pushed off from the counter and took a few gliding steps toward her. “I’d really like that,” his baritone voice balanced her whisper with its quiet assertion. “I’ve missed you too.” Ranger stopped and reached out his hand, tugging lightly on a lock of hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Do you remember Manny from Trenton?” Ranger asked as he lowered his hand to the counter. At Stephanie’s puzzled nod, Ranger elaborated, “I talked with Manny on the phone today. I didn’t hire him for this case, but I work with him sometimes. And I wanted to bounce a few ideas off him.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Stephanie drawled in acknowledgement, waiting for Ranger to continue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I wanted to see what you thought, also.” Ranger leaned his weight further back against the cabinet, reminding Stephanie of how he’d stand against his truck when talking to her, years ago. “I’ve been exploring how to convert my business to focus on Private Investigation,” he explained. “More local work, shorter gigs.” Stephanie watched the subtle play of his muscles under his sleeves as he briefly leaned his weight on his arms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is that what Manny does for a living, these days?” She asked, trying to connect the dots.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Sometimes. We’re all still licensed along the East Coast. Manny, Zero, Vince, and a couple others I hire for jobs.” Ranger tilted his head. “The work is portable Steph, readily available with the connections I have.” Ranger’s eyes were level with hers, their intensity betraying the impassiveness of his expression. “I was thinking,” he continued, “we could take on work in Boston, not just New York.” He paused. “That would mean I could be here.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wow,” Stephanie said, taking in Ranger’s words. “That would be… wow.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger began. Then after waiting a beat, he asked, “Is </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span> good or bad?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good Rick,” she replied. “Really good.” And then, as Stephanie belatedly processed Ranger’s momentary confusion, she tried to stifle a snort. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s good but... funny?” Ranger’s eyebrow drifted upward. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No Rick,” Stephanie smiled reassuringly as she reached out to brush her hand against his. “What’s funny is just that after years of figuring out how to translate </span>
  <em>
    <span>Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>, I can mystify you with </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ranger enunciated with a droll emphasis, “you always manage to mystify me. Or at least surprise me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Fair enough</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought, he’d surprised her too, with his idea of shifting his whole business so he could spend time in Boston. With her. She began to say exactly that when she paused, noticing a pensive expression on Ranger’s face. Gazing intently at him, she lightly shook his arm. “To quote someone I know,” she murmured, “I see smoke, Rick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Smoke it is,” Ranger replied with a nod. He shifted his stance. “Here’s the catch, Steph. That arrest in Dorchester… Babe, it’s a murder rap. I’m pretty sure that, by collaring Figueroa, I can prove I didn’t do the shooting last Friday, that I was framed. But until then, any plans I make are, as you say, smoke.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie watched Ranger’s closed expression, sensing that he had more to say. But then he surprised her again, as his lips tilted in an indulgent smile. “Steph, did you want to finish that flan tonight?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes narrowing briefly, Stephanie knew that Ranger was attempting to distract her. Probably so he didn’t have to tell her that, if his case wasn’t solved, he himself would become smoke. Unfindable again, in ways that someone from the BPD wouldn't be able to trace. Old Stephanie would have kept pushing to find out if that’s what he planned to say, probably causing him to retreat into the very escape plans she’d want to forestall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>New Stephanie, though, was smart enough to figure it out in her head, and hopefully patient enough to wait for discussion of that option. One that Stephanie resolved would include a loophole that would allow a particular BPD Community Liaison officer to turn a blind eye to how she was secretly still in touch with a fugitive. If that option were ever needed. Which it wouldn't be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, eyes widening for the drama of it, Stephanie reached down to the silverware drawer and grabbed a couple spoons. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Duh</span>
  </em>
  <span> Rick, it’s dessert. Pulling out a chair, she sat down while she motioned for Ranger to bring the flan container to the table. Handing a spoon over to Ranger. “Let’s celebrate your idea of having a PI business. Which of course will happen because obviously we—note how I say </span>
  <em>
    <span>we</span>
  </em>
  <span>, here—will make sure that frame-up is overturned.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sat down in the chair next to her, the fine wrinkles around his eyes resolving into smile lines. “Your faith sustains me Steph.” He put his spoon on the table. “But go ahead, that last bit of flan is all yours.” Then Ranger tilted his head. “But I can’t believe you’ve never been to </span>
  <em>
    <span>El Oriental de Cuba</span>
  </em>
  <span> in all this time. They have dessert, which I seem to recall is at the base of the Plum food pyramid, and it’s just down the street.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think Angie and Mary Alice have been there.” Stephanie found herself suddenly concentrating on her spoon, which was perfectly sensible given that it contained a dollop of caramel drizzled custard, a rare, tanned bit of heaven. She slid the spoon into her mouth, focusing on the soft burst of burnt caramel that deepened the dessert’s cream and vanilla sweetness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger’s voice was quiet. “Why wouldn't </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> go there?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Focusing on the arc of her spoon, Stephanie murmured, “It’s a long story.” She reached for the last spoonful of flan. “Maybe some other time; it’s late.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger reached out and lightly brushed his fingers along her chin. “Tell me.” He paused. “Please.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Stephanie looked up. He’d used the magic word. Leave it to Ranger to go exactly where she’d hidden her thoughts, Stephanie thought, suddenly sober. She took a breath, about to challenge him, to push back, but the concern in Ranger’s expression caught her off-guard. Or perhaps it was her own unreadiness to speak that made her look down suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie,” Ranger murmured, “tell me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie put down her spoon. She knew this was something she and Ranger had in common: now that he had a mystery, he would keep asking until he understood. Toying with the hem of her sweatshirt sleeve, Stephanie finally shrugged. “It’s kinda obvious, isn’t it? It’s a Cuban restaurant. I knew it would’ve reminded me of you. I was afraid of dredging up that feeling. That you’d given up on me. That you’d left me.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked down again, but not before seeing the lines form between Ranger’s eyebrows. He was confused about </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Steph,” Ranger said, his voice as even as she’d ever heard it. “You were the one who moved away from Trenton. I was off on a mission. You knew that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie exclaimed, shaking her head. “Rick, you have to know that’s bullshit, right? I didn’t know where you were. You left one day without really telling me much, and whenever I asked your friend Tank he acted like it was a big military secret.” Stephanie shook her head at the remembered frustration. “Nobody I knew at Rangeman, who’d actually talk to me, seemed to have much knowledge either. From my perspective, you disappeared.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused for a moment, noting Ranger’s intent gaze, then squared her shoulders. “So months pass, you’re on some mission—or you’ve run away to join the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, because nobody would tell me </span>
  <em>
    <span>anything</span>
  </em>
  <span>—and everything goes to crap. Suddenly I had four children to take care of, and I hate to say it but my dad was a zombie.” Stephanie shook her head. “Anyhow, I had to make some decisions after everything happened. And one of them was to move here where I would have a house and a job, and people to help me raise my girls.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m sorry, Steph. I would’ve helped if I had known.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Ranger, I mean Rick, that’s easy to say now,” she couldn’t help but snap. Then, at his shift in posture, Stephanie hastened to add, “And I believe you. I really do.” Stephanie started pulling absently at a loose thread on her shirt. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But Rick, what was I supposed to think? I mean, after I moved up here, it was no secret where I was. All you had to do was ask around. Joe probably would have told you if you’d asked. Mary Lou knows where I am and has even visited. My dad could have told you; he lived here with me for two years. Connie knows how to find me, even though we’re not close. Hell, I even told Tank, where I was and why, despite the fact that he was obviously trying to avoid me.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You told Tank?” Ranger asked, a frown darkening his forehead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes, and I gave him my address here before I left town.” Seeing his expression, Stephanie glowered. “And don’t you dare make this about Tank. Because you had lots of other ways to find me, if you’d wanted. Like maybe you’ve heard of the Internet by now? Or talking to informants? But as far as I knew, you never did.” Stephanie sat back in her chair, her arms in front of her. “That was what really hurt, Rick.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger shifted, Stephanie looked down, fighting against an echo of the anger and confusion she’d felt back then. The emotions she’d worked so hard to get beyond. But she had to say it, she just did. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So in a tight voice, she confessed, “A couple years after I moved up here, rumors started circulating later that you were back. People said you were like a ghost. But by the time I heard anything, you’d sold your building, so the only address I had for you was that old, stupid vacant lot in Trenton. I heard from Connie that you didn’t even live in New Jersey anymore, but she didn’t know where you were. Lula couldn’t get Tank to tell her anything back then. Your phone number changed. There are no Mañosos in the phone book. Even my BPD search programs couldn’t find you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie, you tried to find me?”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well of course.” Stephanie’s brows contracted. “I tried for a couple of years. You were one of my best friends. At least, that’s how I thought of you.” Stephanie blinked at the ache she felt in her eyes. “Though in retrospect, maybe some of that was wishful thinking.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She swallowed, seeing the concern and surprise that Ranger wasn’t bothering to hide. “Finally, Rick, I decided you’d meant it, that time. That you weren’t willing, anymore, to pay the price to be close to me.” She felt him straighten, a look in his eyes she’d never seen before. “But Rick, when I finally had time to think about it, I couldn’t blame you at all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie,” Ranger began, a crease between his brows. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With a self-conscious shrug, Stephanie interjected, “No, let’s face it. Even I know I was a hot mess back then. I lived with Joe, I slept with you, and I kept trying to be Wonder Woman when I was really more like Lucy Ricardo. After a couple years up here, not hearing from you, I decided that I’d been lucky to know you when I did, but that the ‘Ranger’ chapter in my life was over.” She sighed at the remembered tears. “So, I resolved to stop looking for you, and made my peace with mourning and missing you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked down, then lifted her chin to return Ranger’s gaze. “So yeah, I avoided that restaurant because I was afraid to think of you. It hurt, and took me a long time to deal with it.” She looked back down. “I finally did. Deal with it, that is. But it wasn’t easy.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger reached out, hesitantly fingering a few locks of her hair back behind her ear. “I’m so sorry.” She looked up, and his face was momentarily unguarded. Stephanie could see pain etched around his eyes. “I had a lot going on, but I was an ass. I should’ve manned-up and let you know I was okay.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You think?” Stephanie couldn’t help saying, shifting her gaze over Ranger’s shoulder as he repeated his light smoothing of her hair over her ear once more. Then, letting his fingers drift to her shoulder and down her arm, he murmured, “I know I’m a self-centered bastard sometimes.” At Stephanie’s raised eyebrows, Ranger shrugged. “Well, so I’ve been told. And I have to agree.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Stephanie mumbled, wondering if he thought that was an explanation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger released an exhale that she felt puff against her skin, ruffling a lock of hair that he’d just brushed back. “Stephanie,” he said, the furrow between his brows even more pronounced than before. “Why help me like this, why have me in your home and with your family, when it hurt so much to think about me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stared at him for a moment, amazed. “Rick. Have you ever met me? I'm just so relieved to see you. You're alive, you're doing well, you're still </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She reached out her free arm and brushed her hand along his jaw, as though she’d never touched it before. “In what reality would I </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>help you?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head, marveling at how easy it was for people to slip past each other, confused and making assumptions. She had learned this lesson all too well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ranger, I thought I would never see you again.” She blinked her eyes, determined not to cry. “Then there you were, sitting right in front of me, and it was a miracle.” She looked down as she continued. “I thought I’d never be able to thank you for being my friend, for putting up with me, for being honest with me.” She blinked again. “I spent so much time saying stuff that didn’t matter, and I don’t know if I ever said ‘thank you.’ I don’t think I ever told you how much you meant to me, but you do. You matter to me, about as much as anyone.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She looked up at him, his intent eyes betraying his patient expression. Somehow she knew he was listening with everything he had. That his soul was naked to her, as much as it had ever been. She squared her shoulders and captured both of his hands, her experience having taught her that any moment can be the </span>
  <em>
    <span>last</span>
  </em>
  <span> moment you get to say what matters. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she looked at his face, his eyes focused now on their joined hands, it felt like she was full of static electricity. Full of life the way people feel before a storm unleashes its primal energy upon the earth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick, don’t you get it? I </span>
  <em>
    <span>love</span>
  </em>
  <span> you." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes speared up at Stephanie as she continued, half out of breath. "To quote someone I know, I love you in my own way. In the way that I love you.” She inhaled quickly, then pressed on. “I could never admit that I loved you—not out loud—I don't know why. But, when I thought I'd lost you forever…. Well, I was devastated that I’d never have the chance to tell you. That you’d never know. And that made me almost sadder than knowing I’d probably never see you again.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger suddenly wavered in Stephanie’s view and she blinked to clear the ache from her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he started to open his mouth but, before he could speak, she shook her head. Reaching out, she put her finger across his full, partly open lips. “Wait, Rick, before you say anything, it's true. It doesn't matter if you don’t do relationships, or if you think you’re damaged, or if you’ve discovered you’re gay, or if you’re secretly married to someone else. Or becoming a priest. Or, whatever. It just doesn’t matter, because </span>
  <em>
    <span>I, me, </span>
  </em>
  <span>Stephanie Plum... I love </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>, regardless, and that's non negotiable.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She had pulled her finger away from his lips while she spoke. As she paused, he was poised in stillness, his lips slightly parted, his eyes intent as though he were tracking the subtle traces of her soul in the liquid, blue depths of her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You don’t say much, Rick, and half the time what you say is misdirection, so I understand you by how you act. I figured out a long time ago that you cared for me but didn’t know what to do about it. And that I didn't show any sign of committing either. So, you’d pull me close, kiss me and make love until I was jelly-kneed, and then push me away. At some point, I figured out that it wasn’t that I was inadequate. That it was like you were fighting with yourself, but acting it out with me. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s what I think.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She paused, realizing from Ranger’s expression that she’d surprised him yet again. Well, she was surprising herself, too. She had truly not imagined having this conversation tonight. But, she suddenly knew in her bones that it was the </span>
  <em>
    <span>right</span>
  </em>
  <span> conversation to have. That she was finally being </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> with the man in front of her. And that he needed that as much as she did.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, squaring her shoulders again, Stephanie continued. “At the same time, I also think in Trenton I confused myself by falling in love with a fantasy. Probably I confused you too. But I see now that the person I care about is </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I don’t know how to say this, but it’s the man who keeps trying. The man who doesn’t say a lot but is always thinking. Ricardo Carlos Mañoso. Rick. </span>
  <em>
    <span>You</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She lifted her hand, hesitating, and then reaching out to run her fingers lightly against his temple, feathering back his hair. “Okay Rick, this is where you say something.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” Ranger reached out his hand, grasping hers. “I never stopped caring about you. Loving you in </span>
  <em>
    <span>my</span>
  </em>
  <span> own way,” his lips lifted in ironic amusement. “And it’s true that I was confused about you. But not in the way you think.” His hand tightened briefly, then released her.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he shifted in his seat. “Steph, when I first came back from that mission,” Ranger’s words rumbled, “I wasn’t thinking straight. In a lot of ways.” His lips pursed. “Pretty much every way. But, I convinced myself that you’d left Trenton on purpose. That you’d finally ditched me and all the baggage from the past few years.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You thought what?” she asked, having never imagined him saying that in all the times she’d rehearsed having something like this conversation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I figured you’d left to get away from me, and from Joe. Especially after I saw that Joe was with someone else. I assumed that maybe you’d decided to make a clean break.” His eyes flickered with an expression Stephanie couldn't read. “And well,” he finally continued, letting his hand drop to the table, “along with everything else that was going on then, in my life, I didn’t take that as well as I could have.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie could tell he was expecting her to say something, but she knew she needed to steady her own emotions first. She had worked on this, had gone through her half of this conversation so many times, with herself, with Mary Lou, with Lula, with her therapist…. But Ranger had strayed off the script that had always played in her mind. What she needed now was to let Ranger talk. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, wetting her lips with her tongue, Stephanie adapted a move from her shrink’s playbook and said, “Tell me what you mean. I don’t understand,” she murmured, reaching out her hand to rest on Ranger’s arm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Stephanie,” he exhaled. “It’s not an excuse, but I really wasn’t holding it together very well. I hadn’t been for a long time. Even back before I left for that mission.” Almost to himself, he murmured, “Way back before then, really.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger sat motionless for a moment, then shifted slightly in her direction. “I think I projected my feelings onto you; that I, myself, had to get away.” He looked down. “Or, more honestly, it was easier to feel angry that you'd left me behind than to focus on the things I needed to work out. That I couldn’t fix from inside the life I’d built.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s far hand came up to tentatively rest on Stephanie’s fingers. “Since being here,” his quiet voice conceded, his scrutiny on their joined hands, “it’s become obvious to me that I blew it. That I didn’t try to find you after I came back to Trenton. With all of my background and resources. I should’ve tried, but I didn’t.” He looked up again, deep into her eyes. “And I don’t have a good explanation for why. Other than having my head up my ass.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Well duh</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought. But then she sat back and really looked at the man in front of her, seeing the passage of time written in tiny lines on his face, in the depth of his eyes. He was older, more worn, and yet he was more expressive and seemed more </span>
  <em>
    <span>present</span>
  </em>
  <span> than she remembered ever seeing. And then it clicked: she was seeing Rick. She’d thought herself close to Ranger in Trenton, but she’d never even perceived the man behind the mask, he’d been so well hidden.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” she said softly, “you said you weren’t holding it together very well, even before you left on that mission. But, that’s not something I ever saw.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips tilted in an ironic smile as his hand gently squeezed hers, still resting on his arm. “With my training… of course you wouldn’t have guessed.” He looked back down at their hands. “Also, when I first met you, I was pumped, ready to show the world that I was </span>
  <em>
    <span>all that</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Ready to move on from the military, and make my own way. Be my own man; run my own show, bigger and badder than anyone else.” His smile faded, “But, things got away from me faster than I was ready to handle. I can see that now but refused to, back then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged, looking briefly up, and then down at their hands again. “Steph, you were trying to be Wonder Woman? Well, I can’t say that I was trying to be Batman the way you imagined, but I </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> still trying to be the best at everything. And, even before the Army I’d learned how to be a badass, and to only show people what I wanted. Combine that with years of training to go undercover… well, I’m damned good at that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt Ranger’s arm tense under her fingers. “But it got harder to hide that half the time I didn’t know what the hell I was doing. And harder to soldier through faking it, day after day.” His eyes pivoted back to Stephanie’s face, his candid gaze reaching straight through to her heart. “It’s a total mindfuck to be undercover in your own life.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Rick,” she sighed, leaning closer, “I wish I had been someone you could have trusted, then. So you would have had someone to talk with.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” he murmured, taking his hand off hers so he could trace it along her upper arm. “I trusted you more than almost anyone.” Ranger added quietly. “And maybe telling you more of what was going on would’ve helped me, but it wasn’t something I could do then. And, frankly, most of it wasn’t anything you could help with. Some stuff from the military was confidential, so I couldn’t even tell you if I’d wanted.” He paused smiling sardonically. “Besides, I’m not sure I was ready to find out that having a tortured soul goes along with being Batman.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Stephanie breathed, suddenly understanding that her fantasy of Ranger the super-hero had been part of why she’d never been able to figure out who he was, as a man. How could she have? He’d hidden himself well, and her daydreams had built a further imaginary life around his persona. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Nothing to apologize for Babe,” he replied as his hand traveled down her arm, clasping her hand again. “In retrospect, what I really needed was something I refused to do.” Ranger’s eyes traveled away from her face, looking into the past. “When I left the military, they offered counseling. My commanding officer strongly recommended it. But it was optional, so I didn’t do it. I was cocksure and never did stress control or other counseling while in the field, so figured I didn’t need it. I just wanted to leave the military, turn the page, and start my new mission.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled ruefully. “Of course, the fact that I actually did think of my life as a new mission should have clued me into the problem I was having. But, I’m a stubborn asshole when I want to be.” His lips still tilted in a self-aware smile, Ranger’s focus returned to Stephanie. “Which is pretty much all the time. So, I worked through my issues in my own hardheaded way, the way I seem to do everything. With a few more fistfights and a lot less journaling.” He shrugged. “Well, maybe more than a few fistfights, at first,” he raised his free hand and ran it through his hair.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie sat back, blinking while she thought. “You know, Rick, seeing a therapist is something they promote in the police department, too. It was something I needed right from the start of my job, given everything I’d gone through over the prior year.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then she tightened her hand on Ranger’s arm. “So I thought it was just me. But, seeing some of the older, hard-nosed detectives resisting therapy, and then coming back as advocates gave me a real appreciation for the process.” Stephanie blinked again, adding, “It’s the hardest work you’ll ever do that involves tissues and talking.” She laughed quietly. “My shrink probably had to rent a new storeroom just for his notes on my sessions.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I never thought you needed help like that, Babe. You just always seemed to go through everything, and then rebound like nothing had happened.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shrugged. “Yeah, turns out that’s not normal, unless you grew up around PTSD like I did.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your dad?” Ranger’s expression was knowing, like this wasn’t a surprise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, though he’s a lot better these days. It was tough going for a while, but Mrs. Kloughn found him a therapist too.” She answered. “But really, even without trauma like that, everyone needs help from time to time.” After a brief pause, she elaborated, “As for me, first I needed to work through what it meant that I’d kept going back to a job that featured near-death experiences every few months and that put my family in danger. And why I kept living in my crap apartment even after it was firebombed, corpses were left there, and… people were shot.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She inhaled, “But truly,” she hurried along to her main point, “underneath all that, I had to grow up.” She looked directly at Ranger. “Like you said before, I knew how to get back to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>, time-after-time. But I needed to get back to a </span>
  <em>
    <span>better</span>
  </em>
  <span> me. To stop bungee-jumping into danger and then back to Plum Disneyland over and over again. Because I finally didn’t have anyone to bail me out when I blew it. I couldn’t get free food at my mom’s, anymore, when I’d neglected to get paid.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Keeping her gaze locked with Ranger’s, she asserted, “Most importantly, I had to become the person that these girls needed. The mother they could rely on, and respect. And, I figured out I needed to be a person who I, myself, could respect.” She paused for a breath. “That's who I needed to find inside.” Then Stephanie shrugged ruefully. “Good thing I’m persistent at searching for people, because it took a while. And lots of those tissues that I think I mentioned before.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger reached out, brushing his fingers along the fringes of her curls that had, yet again escaped from behind her ear. She felt the tickle of his touch race through her like she’d felt the first few sips of wine had before dinner. As though the soft ends of her hair were charged, flaring warmth throughout her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seems like you did find that person though, Steph,” the deep timbre of Ranger’s voice matched the profound sable of his eyes. “I think I’m talking to her.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie replied, leaning unconsciously into his warm fingers. “Just like how I’m talking to </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span> right now.” She bit her lip as it teased into a tired smile. “Sitting at my kitchen table, catching up on our lives.” A quiet laugh welled up from within her as she spoke. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And there’s no place I’d rather be,” Ranger watched her face intently. “Babe,” he murmured, twirling a lock of her hair loosely around a finger, and then letting it loose as the back of his finger journeyed slowly down the soft side of her jaw. “In answer to your earlier speculation, I’m not gay. Nor am I married, or engaged,” the humor in his eyes teased her. “Or planning on joining the priesthood any time soon. Trust me on that one.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help but chuckle, her cheeks flushing as she heard her thoughts from earlier played back. And, she was more than a little relieved at what Ranger was saying. Or what she thought he was saying. Wait, what </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> he saying?</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As though guessing that Stephanie was about to start down a rabbit hole, Ranger’s brow twitched as he continued in his deep baritone. “Steph, all those years ago, I meant it when I said I loved you in my own way.” His lips pressed together in an amused quirk. “Of course, that was a confusing way to say what I felt, but I couldn’t commit to anything at the time. It wasn’t just the ‘two guns and a knife’ lifestyle that I remember mentioning, though they did symbolize the problem fairly well.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His fingers moved languidly from Stephanie’s jaw, tracing the side of her neck, and moved slowly from her shoulder to her fingers that were resting on the table. “But, I know now that I still feel that way.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Aware of the warmth of Ranger’s gaze focused only on her—something she had felt only rarely, and which disarmed her utterly—Stephanie inhaled for courage. “Rick, did you also mean it… the times when you said there might also be a </span>
  <em>
    <span>someday</span>
  </em>
  <span> in our future?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes blinked briefly to her mouth as her tongue moistened her suddenly dry lips. In nearly a whisper, she asked, “Did you mean that someday we could be Rick and soccer-mom Stephanie, with a second chance to try a relationship together?” She swallowed into the silence after she stopped speaking.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His lips softened into a reassuring smile, surprising her yet again. “Stephanie, I actually didn’t have a plan at the time, when I said that.” He turned her hand to hold it, palm against palm. “So I can’t claim that I had that specific vision in my mind.” Ranger began moving his thumb along the tops of her knuckles. “I mostly thought… well, if you were still around after I worked through all my shit, if you weren’t married to the cop and I was still, well….” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He paused, and Stephanie tightened her hold on his large hand, feeling strength radiate from his warm grasp. She had never before seen Ranger speak while still thinking through his answer, rather than waiting for fully-formed thoughts to be spoken. In wonder, she reached out with her other hand and feathered her fingertips through the slightly unruly hair along his temple. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I mostly thought,” Ranger repeated, his voice slow and low, “that we could be good together.” He reached up with his far hand, gently snaring her fingers from his hair, and brought her hand to his lips. Keeping his dark eyes intently focused on Stephanie’s, his lips lingered on the back of her hand, their touch soft and assured. Then, with both of her hands in his, he murmured, “All I knew, at the time, was that you were the woman I imagined when I thought about my own </span>
  <em>
    <span>someday</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt the warmth of his body lean closer as those same soft, assured lips opened to speak. “And now I know, Steph, that I still have those same thoughts.” Stephanie felt his breath warm along her cheek when he asked. “Do you still imagine a </span>
  <em>
    <span>someday</span>
  </em>
  <span> between you and me?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yes,” she replied, feeling the word in her mouth like a sigh. With that exhale, she felt winded, as though recovering from a long, deep kiss. Or readying herself for one. “I really never stopped missing you. I tried to move on but… maybe nobody could live up to you. Or the image I’d had of us, together.” Whispering again, she confessed, “Maybe I was waiting for you to come back, after all.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled, a genuine expression that cleared the traces of exhaustion from his face. And, it wasn’t his 100-watt expression of male pride. Instead it was something new: a combination of pleasure, surprise, and almost shyness that Stephanie had never imagined could light his features. And now, she knew she’d always look for it.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger said, his far hand releasing hers, only to trace one finger slowly along her lips. They tingled where he touched, a soft tickle that took fire, sending a current straight to her core. Stephanie closed her eyes, leaning her head back, trying to think of why this might be a bad idea. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oh yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Stephanie thought as a delicious tingle radiated along her spine: there was the arrest in Dorchester that could send Ranger into the wind, but she was determined that would be overturned. And the case he was currently on…. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her thoughts halted momentarily as Ranger’s other hand released hers and began moving with sinuous warmth up her arm, warming her like a flame. With more willpower than Stephanie knew she had, she completed her previous thought. That case he was currently on: her spidey senses were in overdrive, telling her that Ranger was close to untangling that case too. They were all tied together somehow…. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>Somehow…. </span>
  </em>
  <span>Then she stopped thinking altogether as Ranger’s deep voice snared her attention. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“May I?” Ranger’s finger lifted gently from her mouth, replaced by the press of his full, warm lips against hers, flushed and tingling with sensation. His kiss dashed through her whole body, lighting down her spine and through her blood as though it were her very first kiss. Long imagined, unexpected, voluptuous, and perfect, all at once. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Absolutely perfect.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie reached out, her hand caressing Ranger’s rough jaw, reveling in this tactile evidence of his masculinity. Soft lips, rugged man. Kissing her as though she was the only woman in the world. As her fingers reached out to circle his neck, pulling him closer, she felt his thigh press against hers under the table. She couldn’t help the low sound of appreciation, the throaty moan that opened her lips to Ranger’s questing tongue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes still closed, Stephanie felt his finger trace along her cheek. Sparks followed as he lightly circled the shell of her ear and then began tracing through the curls along her neck. She felt as if all the fine hairs on her body were being drawn to him, as his other hand reached the small of her back, splaying along the skin just above her waistband, skin against skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And she was lost in the moment. Her last conscious thought was that she should rely on her faith; on her certainty that Ranger had never lied to her. If Ranger, if </span>
  <em>
    <span>Rick</span>
  </em>
  <span> said he would do his best to come back to her in Boston after his current work was finished, she could rely on him to try. She could take this moment, this kiss, this promise, and hold it close for tonight.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger interrupted her thoughts, pulling back slightly as she shifted in her chair to better lean into his arms. “I do promise, Steph. I’ll get back to you. Somehow.” She felt his words vibrate against her lips as he pulled her closer, his hand entwined in her hair, his mouth returning to kiss her with a deep passion that Stephanie welcomed with her own.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She heard a quiet moan and knew it was her own, mixed with the deep purr of pleasure she heard in Ranger’s throat as he pulled her tight. Reaching down, Stephanie clasped her hand along his warm leg, feeling each clench and flex under the cloth of his cargos as he moved, remembering suddenly how expressive his muscles were. Remembering the feel of his strong legs, his athletic body, supple and sinewy under her. Over her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>With her. In her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Pulling up for a gasp of breath, Stephanie stroked her hand firmly up Ranger’s outer thigh, pausing to relish the firmness of his rear. At the same time, she felt his large hand begin to explore under the elastic of her sweatpants, moving from her back and down along the sensitive curve of her skin, his callouses delightfully textured against her softness. Reaching her own fingers up to his waistband, Stephanie fought against the firmness of his belt until she changed direction, simply pulling his sweater up until she felt the firm flesh of his back against her hand.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” Ranger rumbled into her panting breath. “I’ve wanted you for so long,” he exhaled, and then dropped a line of soft kisses from her mouth to her ear. “I’d made myself forget, but I want you.” His lips were velvet along the sensitive skin between her ear and her neck. “Tonight Steph, I want you,” he breathed. “If you’ll have me.” His tongue graced the skin that his lips had brought to life, and then he pressed a lingering kiss along her neck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, leaning away enough to look at Stephanie’s face, Ranger’s gaze was molten and dark, poised with his entire attention on her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhaling, she savored Ranger’s scent: his masculine musk underlying the light sandalwood and aftershave lingering from his morning shower, the earthy essence of the day’s exertion laced with deodorant, and the spicing of their shared dinner. She smiled inwardly, also recognizing the taste of flan along his lips. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” she pulled her hand forward until it rested along his jaw, her thumb outlining the angle of his cheek. “Only tonight?” she asked, proud of how assured her voice sounded. There was so much more she wanted to say, wanted to claim, but the next moments depended on Ranger. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She felt his shoulders shift. “Stephanie, I can only truly promise tonight. But I was serious earlier. I’ll do what I can to return.” Ranger’s gaze softened. “You called this our second chance to try a relationship. I’d like to see what that’s like.” His lips softened into an intimate smile Stephanie remembered from a few times when they’d woken together after spending the night in his bed. “Steph, what I’m trying to say is that I hope this is the first night together, not the only night.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Chills chased themselves deliciously along Stephanie’s skin. “Follow me,” she leaned against the table and then stood, surprising herself with her boldness. She snared his hand as he rose, fluidly standing and bringing her back into his arms. This feeling was so familiar, so exquisite. Stephanie reveled in the way Ranger’s body swayed against hers, pressing the powerful warmth of his leg between hers, the subtle rock of his hips against hers a promise of a different type. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Rick,” Stephanie murmured before his lips crashed against hers, replacing her words with a deep moan that started as a tingle running from her hips up her spine. It had been so long. So very long.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pulled her closer, his hands enveloping her hips. “Too long,” his words vibrated against her lips as his hands extended under her waistband, stroking the warmth of his palms along the cool globes of her flesh.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emboldened by his kisses, by his possessive hands, Stephanie leaned into his frame to enjoy the pure pleasure of holding him, and being held. It was as though they were in a dance, him moving them both forward while she backed up, then turning so she’d lead him. His hands held firmly on her hips, while hers resumed their exploration under his sweater, starting from his taut, and defined abs and caressing steadily upward. She reached a flat masculine nipple and felt Ranger’s skin shiver under her circling fingertips. All the while, they had begun moving toward the back hallway. Toward their rooms. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she backed through the hallway door, Stephanie lost her footing briefly on the uneven floor. Ranger caught her as she was about to hit the wall behind her, cushioning her from impact. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Saving me yet again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she smiled inwardly as she reached for him to keep her balance. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe,” he rumbled into her ear. He leaned into her, pressing her against the wall. As he angled in for another kiss, his thigh pressed once again between her legs, insistently moving against her in a way that made her hips begin to follow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she exhaled raggedly, feeling the licking of flames begin to rise from within her. “Oh my God.” She grabbed Ranger’s belt loops and tugged his hips toward her, feeling his length press hard against her midriff. “Oh my God,” she repeated, words having deserted her momentarily.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, your place or mine?” Ranger’s head tilted gracefully toward her bedroom, then his, and finally leaned down as he began to butterfly kiss down the column of her neck, leaving a trail of liquid fire in their path. Meanwhile, he continued to pulse his hips against hers in the rhythm of her gasps.    </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Um,” she replied, waiting for her mind to catch up. “Mine,” she managed to say. “Because… bed. Not a sofa,” she finally panted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His low chuckle vibrated against her. “Well said, Babe.” Ranger’s tongue touched her neck, then traced a slow, exquisite path back up her neck. “I need to get something,” he murmured. “Wait here, I’ll be right back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh?” she asked, proud of herself that she’d been able to say anything at all.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Condoms, Babe,” his voice answered, the tip of his tongue now caressing along the shell of her ear.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Wait,” Stephanie gasped as she leaned her head back with a moan. “How?” She shivered. “Where?” She asked. “When?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“All good questions,” he replied, pulling back, humor shining in his deep brown eyes. “So many answers.” He reached forward with a quick kiss to her nose. “Go on in,” his head tipped toward her bedroom again. “I’ll be there in a moment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie fisted his shirt as he began to pull away toward his room, her thoughts finally starting to cohere. She glanced up, trying to shake off her remaining befuddlement. “You have condoms in your room? Your truck was stolen and you didn’t have any clothes or money. But you have condoms?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph, that was a week ago. I have another truck, I have money, and I’ve gone shopping.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You bought </span>
  <em>
    <span>condoms</span>
  </em>
  <span> this week?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning his head down, Ranger pulled her close again, his hands pulling her hips against his, and she felt herself begin to short-out again. “Babe,” his low voice murmured in her ear, the warm whisper making her quiver. “Just go with it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she replied breathlessly as he covered her lips with his in a kiss so passionate and slow that she felt herself melting. But still, feeling like there was a point to be made somewhere, she shifted. “But wait. You’re a guy. Doesn’t that mean you have a condom in your wallet?” She ran a hand firmly along his form-fitting cargos, suddenly pleased with this whole line of questioning, finally stopping at the rectangle of his wallet in one of his pockets. “In here?”   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s amusement resonated again from within. “True,” he murmured into her hair. “But only one.” He stroked his hand down the curve of her bottom as he continued, “Which is clearly not enough for the plans that are starting to take shape,” he leaned his hips forward, the unmistakable hardness of his erection pushing into her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh my God,” she panted. “Why are we still talking? We can get more condoms after.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>I’ve waited too long</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought. Then, deciding that the wait was over, Stephanie shifted, bringing her hand forward, and cupped him in a firm caress. Ranger surged forward with a groan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not playing fair, Babe.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” she agreed, with a momentary thought that, for once, she was playing with the same rules as Ranger. Struggling again to find her words as her hand began exploring in earnest. “Do you trust me?” she asked, her whole hand stroking him into even greater hardness.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“With my life Steph,” he whispered harshly, moving with her motions.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then follow me,” she coaxed, turning as she released him, and then reaching for his hand. As she began backing into her bedroom, Ranger matched her step for step, his eyes dark with desire. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Always good advice Babe,” he answered, his mouth meeting her lips, his tongue dancing with  hers like a lapping flame as she reached the edge of her bed. His arms reached around her as she began working the clasp on his belt. “Always good Steph,” he mumbled through a short breath. “Always good.” He reached for the hem of her sweater and pulled up. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie moaned into Ranger’s masculine grunt of pleasure. “Always good,” she echoed, lowering her newly bared arms to finish with his belt. Sitting back on the bed, she popped the top button of his cargos and reached for the zipper straining so wonderfully in front of her. “So good,” she moaned as Ranger leaned over her, urging her backward as she began pushing his pants down. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, his weight resting on his hands, Ranger joined his lips to hers in a kiss so thorough, so soft and firm, so </span>
  <em>
    <span>delicious</span>
  </em>
  <span> that Stephanie felt it ignite like liquid, hot fireworks sparking from the aching need between her legs to ignite every nerve in her body. </span>
  <em>
    <span>So very good</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she quivered before words were lost in the delicious bonfire consuming her from within.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0032"><h2>32. Waking Up</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 32: Waking Up</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Holy crap!” Stephanie groaned, face down, her voice muffled by the firmness under her. She’d totally forgotten to turn off the alarm on her clock radio last night, she realized as she heard Sonny Bono’s studious, nasal voice singing, “Babe, I got you Babe….” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh no,” she exclaimed, “it’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>Groundhog Day</span>
  </em>
  <span>!” At that, Stephanie reached out, eyes still closed, to turn off the alarm. Realizing, in a haze, both that it was Saturday and that she was unusually far away from the clock’s controls, she simply grabbed the clock and yanked until the plug was pulled from the wall. In the resulting morning silence, her lips curled up in a satisfied smile. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Stephanie one; clock zero. </span>
  </em>
  <span>“Hah!” she quietly exulted.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At which point she felt a low rumble from the bed; a rumble that her half-awake mind finally realized was Ranger’s silent laughter. Under her. With her drool on his chest and her limbs splayed around his. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Peeping up, Stephanie saw his relaxed, brown eyes gazing at her. “Groundhog day, Steph?” he asked quietly in a voice still gravelly from sleep. His eyebrow lifted in a relaxed arch as he continued, “Is it February already? If so, you wore me out a lot more than I thought.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I forgot that I left the alarm on last night,” she mumbled, shifting herself off to Ranger’s side. “Sorry,” she added with a vague flap of her hand as she situated herself, looking back at him in the early morning light that filtered through her curtains. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No reason to apologize,” he answered, dark eyes liquid with amusement. Pulling her closer to him, Ranger’s low voice drawled, “</span>
  <em>
    <span>I got you Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>… I’m inclined to like that particular song this morning.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a blush spreading across her face, Stephanie glanced away before adding. “Me too.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“In fact,” Ranger’s voice dropped as he shifted, half-turning toward her, the sheet shifting down to reveal his chest. “That song seems just about right.” Reaching his hand out, he traced his fingers along the side of her cheek, drawing her gaze back to him. Watching the ripple of his muscles at such a subtle movement, Stephanie was reminded yet again of the broad expanse of his shoulders and the coiled power in his well-defined arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>All right in front of her, ready to wrap her in a promise of delight. Ranger’s hand drifted along her face, his eyes locked on hers with an intensity like a second caress. Then he drew closer, breathing in her scent like a cat, and finally covered her lips with his in an unhurried, open-mouthed kiss that was like passion transmuted into flesh. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie moaned, reaching out to brush his unruly morning hair back from his face, and then completed the move with her hand pulling his head even closer to hers. His kiss deepened in response to the urging of her tongue and his leg slipped between hers, his muscular thigh slow and strong against the sensitive inner flesh of her legs. As he flexed in movement, she could feel how ready she already was to feel all of him. In her. All around her.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She pulled away briefly, pushing aside the rest of the sheet with her foot to reveal Ranger’s naked, tan skin, now visible from ankle to shoulder. So taut, so delectable. Unconsciously, her tongue peeked out to moisten her lips as she wrapped her leg over his hip, her foot hooking around to urge him to turn more fully so she could feel his weight on her, again. As she’d felt several times, wonderfully, in the night. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, as Ranger shifted to resume kissing her, she felt his arousal hard against her hip. Straining to feel even more, Stephanie’s foot pulled him closer, her arms tightened around him, and she returned his kiss with lips and tongue full and soft against his insistent mouth. As he moved, pushing his hips harder against hers, Stephanie’s breath hitched, interrupting the shared panting of their breath. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Rick,” she gasped as she repositioned one of her arms to better stroke his back. “This is the best morning ever.” The feel of his skin against hers—from toes to hips to chest to lips—was a dream she had woken from so many times over the past several years. But today it was real. So very real, as he moved against her, warm and smooth and toned. Tender and sure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll second that Babe,” Ranger’s voice purred as he feathered a series of kisses from her lips to her ear, and then continued along the delicate, almost ticklish skin along her temple. “Right after the best night ever,” he added, as Stephanie reached up to kiss the fullness of his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He moved slowly, kissing as he went, from her neck to the hollow of her throat, pausing to linger above her heart, and then lower to pay long, delicious attention to the sensitive skin along her breast. As he shifted, she felt the play of muscles along his thighs and rear. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moaning as he turned his attention to the other breast, Stephanie couldn't control the roll of her hips under him, against him. She felt him smile as his hand replaced his lips on her now neglected side, his fingers teasing her raised peak and then circling in imitation of the kisses he was layering on her other side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You like this?” he asked lazily, his voice vibrating against her. As she attempted to shape her sounds of appreciation into something like agreement, Ranger initiated a playful, synchronized nip and pinch that nearly had her bucking him off of her. “Hmm, I think you do,” he answered his own question, his low pleased chuckle providing rhythm to her panting moans.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie's hands played along his shoulders, then pressed down his back and splayed down to his waist, feeling his sleek shape taper down to his hips. “Want you,” her voice was husky, her hands pulling insistently upward on his waist. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Patience,” he replied with a final tongued caress of her nipple before he resumed his downward journey. “I haven't even finished with my good-morning kisses yet.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh,” she sighed, her hands moving up to caress along his broad shoulders and then down to explore his rounded biceps. Her hips still squirmed against him as he pointedly kissed his way down to her belly button, pausing again while his lips teased against the soft skin around that area. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like your morning kisses,” she managed to say after a moment, her mind catching up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hands captured her writhing hips, stilling them slightly as he began a slow path further downward. As Ranger murmured, “I mostly only like to kiss you,” against her skin, Stephanie felt the buzz of his words travel like a current from her skin to her core. In the back of her mind she knew he’d said something precious, something important, but….</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He then settled himself between her legs with a full-lipped kiss followed by a lazy, teasing visit from his tongue. At which point words and thoughts were gone and all she could do was feel. She felt each of his touches against her sensitized skin; she felt his hands take a firmer grip of her hips. Then one of his hands drifted further south along her leg, pulling her thigh gently upward before traveling again up to join his mouth in pleasure. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Unaware, Stephanie’s fingers had tangled in Ranger’s hair, while her other hand fluttered along his shoulder, his arm, his back. Toes curling, her heels twined around the solidity of his upper legs as she attempted to stay grounded with him in the moment. Holding him so close, Stephanie moaned as her own swaying joined with the measured rocking of his hips against the mattress, both of them moving to the rhythm of his attentions. Stephanie wasn’t sure where his lips ended and her pleasure began; they were one and the same. “Oh Rick,” she moaned, “don’t stop.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger made a pleased sound low in his throat as she felt him smile against her. “Don’t worry, I could kiss you like this all day,” his voice rumbled against her most tender flesh, sending pulses of heat upward and inward. “All night too,” he murmured low as his lips rejoined his fingers against her, teasing and lapping. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then she felt the tickling pressure of his teeth as his tongue resumed its delightful dance against her. “Oh,” she cried as quivering warmth broke free, rocketing through her. “Oh Rick,” she half sobbed as she felt herself twist against him; his hand on her hip and his weight of his arms resting on the apex of her thighs seemed to be the only things holding her in place. That, and his mouth, still soft and firm against her, urging her on. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It was almost too much, but as she was about to say that, a second wave of jolting ecstasy crashed through her, and she lost track of time. “Oh my God,” Stephanie finally panted, half sitting as she nudged limply against his shoulder. “Oh Rick,” she said his name as he lifted his head, and she saw the smile light in his eyes. “I want you,” her hand traveled down to his arm and started to pull. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That could be arranged,” he drawled, planting a slow, moist kiss in the hollows of her hip, one side followed by the other. Then he raised himself sinuously, his muscles rolling under his tawny skin, his hair tousled where her fingers had been, his eyes focused on her and as dark as obsidian. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her gaze locked with Ranger’s, Stephanie watched as he crept up her body, as intentionally and teasingly slow as anything they’d done since adjourning to her room last night. Watching him move, Stephanie felt almost hypnotized, as though the only thing in the universe was the man in front of her, closing on her, his lips glistening as he paused to leave kisses along her heated skin as he inched closer.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Watching his smooth, muscular advance, Stephanie’s eyes traveled to the spiral tattoo on the left side of Ranger’s chest. Inked only in thin black tracings with tips in crimson, it moved with him, flexing and pulsing along his pectoral. It was one of the various marks that she’d noted as new since she’d last known his body in intimate detail. Some were intentional like this one; some told a darker story, like the puckered scar she’d found on the inside of his thigh.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pretty,” she said, still out of breath as she reached out to trace along the tribal pattern, following the design as it snared the flat, masculine round of his dark nipple at the bottom and outlined his collarbone at the top. </span>
  <em>
    <span>But no</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she thought, it wasn’t pretty as much as elegant, complete, almost powerful. Round like a shield; tight like a coiled spring. She could get lost looking at it. “Strong,” she amended out-loud, unable to marshal her thoughts into more coherent words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled again, half crouched over her, satisfaction clear in his focused expression. He was close enough she could feel the heat radiating from his chest, she could hear his breath as though pumped forcefully through a bellows. Feeling her gasps match his, Stephanie dragged her nails lightly along his skin until they returned to the brown of his nipple. As she paused to give it some attention, she watched his eyes half-close and his head tilt back in a simple gesture that was so sensual that it took Stephanie’s breath with it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Emboldened by pleasure, Stephanie kept moving her hands until they both smoothed down to Ranger’s waist, wrapping around the small of his back until she reached his deliciously supple butt. Employing her nails yet again, she lightly scraped his skin as she circled her fingers, smiling as she saw his abdomen muscles quiver in response. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still crouching, Ranger leaned forward on his arms to meet Stephanie’s lips with his, making love to her lips, to her mouth. She tasted herself, tasted him, and yet there was still something missing. So, skimming her hand forward around his hip, she finally wrapped her palm tightly around his very firm maleness, that velvet on steel, and began teasing it with her thumb.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At which point, his entire body jerked, his muscles straining and failing to control his reaction. With a groan that Stephanie echoed, Ranger pushed up and, turning slightly, he reached to the nightstand and pulled out a package from the much-debated box of condoms that he’d set there in the late hours of the night. A box that was noticeably emptier than it had been yesterday.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached down, gently moving Stephanie’s hand aside. As she watched, spellbound, he took himself in hand, firmly unrolled the thin rubber covering to outline his length, and then turned to lean over her. “Are you ready for me?” he asked, husky and intimate.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh yes,” she answered, and then she felt him against her still sensitive flesh, exactly where she wanted him, pushing to fill her completely. “Oh yes,” she repeated breathily as he paused in a way she now knew was his custom, giving her a moment to again get used to feeling him. “That’s so good,” she encouraged him. “More,” she exhaled.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this what you want?” he asked as he began moving, his eyes hooded, his hands reaching forward to cradle her face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So much,” she affirmed, pulling him against her as she shook with want. And then, she was lost again to sensation, feeling him moving, feeling herself pressing against him. She felt the slight sheen of sweat on his lower back; she could see it glisten on his arms. She could hear his labored breath as his thrusts gradually grew in speed and depth. Through it all, she had no thought of time, no idea how long they remained together in this immemorial motion. A joining of body and spirit that spiraled through her. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Finally, she felt his body tighten under her hands as he teetered on the edge of control. “Perfect,” his low voice groaned with a shudder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh Rick, yes, this is perfect,” she cried out as she felt him finally contract in passion, control lost, and she followed him over that marvelous edge. “Oh, so perfect.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, once again, Stephanie lost track of time. She was aware of Ranger resting against her, his breathing finally returning to normal along with hers. She was aware when he removed his weight from her, dealt with the condom, and then pulled her back against him. With her head on his shoulder, half laying across him, she rested contented, fulfilled, drifting in-and-out of consciousness. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Eventually, she woke to Ranger’s fingers running circles along her arms. Stretching in place, she smiled. “Good morning again,” she murmured.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I think it’s closer to good afternoon,” he planted a kiss against her hair, “but I’m not sure since someone seems to have killed your clock this morning.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help chuckling. “Don’t worry, that model goes on sale at Costco a few times a year, so I have a box of ten more in the closet.” She felt Ranger’s hand falter momentarily against her arm, and then resume its lazy patterns against her skin. “And besides,” she continued, “I’m sure you have a watch that probably gives time in like three different time zones, with atomic precision. Not to mention that you seem to have at least two cellphones. So I’m not worried about telling time right now.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As she finished speaking, Stephanie rolled off Ranger, settling herself at his side. Throughout the night she’d discovered that his body was different from her memory in various subtle ways. It was a strong yet slightly less ascetic temple that time had brought forward to her. Her eyebrows wrinkled in concentration, Stephanie ran her fingers along the muscles of his chest, exploring the flecks of silver that highlighted the sparse, dark dusting of hair in the vee between his pecs, and which painted a narrow path to his navel and beyond. She could see the ripples in his taut muscles that followed her fingers as they strayed down that very path.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, you okay?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stilling the motion of her hand, Stephanie absently began to answer. “Ranger,” she said softly, and then felt him tense slightly. She tilted her head up to look into his dark eyes. How had she ever thought his face was expressionless? “Rick,” she corrected, and saw the tension melt from his face, softening his mouth. She smiled at him, “If you have to ask, you apparently weren’t listening to me a little earlier this morning.” She felt him chuckle under his breath as she playfully appended, “Let alone last night.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That part I figured out,” Ranger retorted, his expression combining amusement with a clearly smug attitude. Then his features relaxed as he reached over to caress her cheek. Pushing a lock of hair over her ear, he continued down her neck and shoulder. “I wanted to make sure that you wanted this,” his voice was smooth and dark as molasses. “That you don’t feel that last night was a mistake.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling a moment of feminine pride at the sight of sweat along Ranger’s hairline and glistening on his chest, Stephanie smiled. “I’ve wanted this since I first laid eyes on you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And it was true: even when she’d met him in the diner over eight years ago, she’d felt the heat of his physical presence as though he was snug against her—from toes to hips to lips—rather than across a table. When they’d later moved their relationship to being physical, whenever either of them had a vulnerable moment, she'd wanted him. And, after the long drought of his absence, seeing him in jail last week she’d felt attraction ignite again in her heart, despite her best efforts to redirect those feelings to simple caring. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing the watchfulness still underlying his expression, Stephanie sensed that this was one of those moments she’d practiced for in all her years visiting her shrink. Time to say, with words, the important thoughts of her heart. Thoughts she’d often been able to say with her body, but had left for her lovers to figure out the meaning. And been angry when they hadn’t. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, inhaling, she began. “Rick,” she said, her fingers resuming their touch against his skin. “This feels totally right, having you here with me. I wasn’t sure it would be, but it is.” Reaching her hand up to outline the rough edge of his cheek, she asserted, “I’m </span>
  <em>
    <span>glad</span>
  </em>
  <span> you’re here. Right here, in bed with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling Ranger inhale as he turned to look more fully at her, Stephanie marveled that it wasn’t scary to say those feelings, at all. She felt light as a feather. Then, impishly remembering how she’d woken this morning thinking she was in </span>
  <em>
    <span>Groundhog Day</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she quoted the moment Bill Murray’s character figured out that his loneliness was over and his desire had been answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I said stay,” Stephanie smiled, as purely happy as she’d felt in a long while. “You stayed,” she echoed the wonder of the line she knew so well. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I did Babe.” His hand drifted downward to begin a light massage against the small of her back. “But you remember, don’t you, that I need to get on the road again soon?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know,” Stephanie answered, aware that Ranger hadn’t picked up her movie reference but that he nevertheless understood the sentiment behind it. “But I’m still glad you’re here, right now, even knowing that you have to head back on the road soon.” She pressed her lips briefly against the strength of his shoulder while she considered her next words. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” she smiled at how natural his name felt to say, after only a couple of days. “I’m glad you’re here partly because it’s so special to be with you. And partly because it lets me tell you that I understand why you need to leave, and that I want you back with me when you’re done.” As she spoke, she stroked her fingers through his dark hair. She was pleased with the small smile that graced his full lips as his eyes closed like a cat being petted. The look of contentment on his face was a gift she didn’t even know she’d needed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, he opened his eyes to catch Stephanie’s in a slow, almost bottomless gaze. “I want to be back here, too,” he said quietly, his fingers twirling idly through the curls that had fallen damply to her shoulder. “I meant it when I said I wanted last night to be the first night, not the only one.” His voice trailed off to silence. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, with an expression that Stephanie would have thought was tense but for the lambent depth of his gaze, he continued, “But I have to admit that I’m not sure how these things work.” Ranger’s eyebrow ticked upward as the skew of his lips telegraphed something between daring and dismissal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie remembered that expression: truth wrapped in deniable innuendo. It was now in her hands to raise, hold, or fold. Still feeling bold from this morning—and from last night, </span>
  <em>
    <span>oh last night</span>
  </em>
  <span>—she glanced down his body. Smoothing her hand down Ranger’s side to his flank, then inching around the curve of his hip, she smiled impishly, “We seemed to have no problem with things working, thus far.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled, then reached down to pull her hand back up. Kissing her knuckles, he commented, “I think that was my line, Babe.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It </span>
  <em>
    <span>was</span>
  </em>
  <span> your line,” she giggled. “And you were right last night: we </span>
  <em>
    <span>did </span>
  </em>
  <span>remember where everything went even after so much time had elapsed.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I told you that wasn't going to be a problem, Steph.” He kept her hand loosely meshed with his as he swept her cheek with his knuckles. “But fitting together in bed… that was never our problem back in Trenton. It was the question of what to do about it. How to make it work.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She considered his words, and the conclusion she’d reached a couple of years ago. “You know, I don’t want what we had in Trenton, either.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Seeing a flicker in his expression, she rushed to continue. “But that's because I want more than what we had.” She caught her lower lip with her teeth, trying to figure out how to put into words what she was thinking. Finally realizing that time was starting to stretch, she blurted, “I mean, don't get me wrong, because the sex was awesome. It still is.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know,” Ranger’s low voice was accompanied by a seductive tilt of lips and the matching temptation of his arched brow over his knowing eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, like you had a doubt,” Stephanie chastened as she pushed jokingly at his shoulder with their still joined hands. “It's that… I want us to </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> each other. I don't need to know your family if that's too difficult for you, but I want to feel that you're part of my family. I want </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> to know that you’re a part of us.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger released her hand, running his fingers along her arm and then over her shoulder, where they settled into a light massage. “Steph, I've never been good at ‘feeling at home’ with others, unless it's as comrades at arms. But, with you, I feel as much at home as I've ever felt in someone else’s place.” His gaze flickered away from her briefly, then back to Stephanie. “That was true in Trenton, also. But it wasn’t the right time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged. “Also, I didn’t belong there. Almost all the time I knew you, Morelli’s underwear was in your lower left drawer and his shaving kit was in your bathroom.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie spared a moment to realize that Ranger had done a bit more recon in her old apartment than she’d known. The underwear, which honestly had mostly been items that Joe had left behind, had been mixed with her sweat pants. And the shaving cream, razor, and aftershave in question had been generally tucked into an oversized MAC makeup bag behind her cache of feminine products. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head to clear the distraction, she acknowledged, “Yeah, I know. And some of the time I was living at Joe’s place.” She grimaced. “Like you said, it wasn’t the right time for us, for a lot of reasons.” This time it was Stephanie’s turn to look away for a moment. “I think, though, we won’t know if it’s the right time now unless we try.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Not hearing a reply, she looked up at Ranger through her lashes. Seeing his thoughtful expression, she reached up to his face. “We can go at whatever pace we decide is right. Just... don’t retreat behind your walls, please. Tell me what you’re thinking.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He nodded, letting her know that he was with her. Breaking his introspective silence, Ranger murmured, “I’m used to being alone.” He paused, “It’s not always a retreat; I’m just probably more comfortable with silence than most people.” His eyes looked over her shoulder into the distance. “Bottom line: I’m not always easy to be with.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled in humor. “In fact, I’m told that I often try the patience of a saint.” Finally Ranger gazed directly back into Stephanie’s eyes. “You already know me about as much as anyone. And, I do want to see where this could go. That’s not something I know how to do, so you’ll have to help.” He exhaled with a shrug, “But you know this: there are things I’m simply not going to be able to talk about.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She placed her free hand lightly on his chest. “Rick, I do know that. There are things you'll never be able to tell me. But we’re adults; there are probably going to be things I won’t want to tell you.” At his raised eyebrow, she continued, “Yeah, okay, so maybe the things I won't tell you are like the times I peed in the snow through my snowsuit rather than go home in the middle of saving the Amazon kingdom with my Flexible Flyer sled. And yours are more like how many times you’ve had to use common household appliances to kill people.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie saw the momentary amusement on Ranger’s face before his expression shuttered. That was something she’d seen before. So she reached out to his arm. "I know that they're not equivalent, but we each have silent spots and I accept that. But I'm willing to try, if you meet me halfway, even with our silences and our other occasional quirks.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As his expression lightened, she added, “You know that we’re amazing. We can do anything when we team up. We can </span>
  <em>
    <span>make</span>
  </em>
  <span> it work if we want to." </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted. “Anyhow, if we don’t make the effort, my girls may stage a coup and come live with you. They already know how to pack for a long weekend in just ten minutes. And, in middle school, Mary Alice figured out how to get to Newport, down in Rhode Island, for a Star Trek convention. Which, yes, I did end up attending with her because there was no way I was letting her walk around Providence to catch a bus to Newport by herself, and then stay at a youth hostel when she was thirteen. And if you’re wondering: people wandering around in pointy ears or speaking Klingon in a food court is just weird.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That whole sequence is somewhat frightening, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At Ranger’s assessing glance, Stephanie laughed a bit self-consciously. “Okay, kidding about them showing up unannounced on your doorstep.” She paused. “Kind of kidding. It’s just that they tend to be a bit stand-offish with men they don’t know, Lisa especially, but they’ve adopted you already. I didn’t think they would after… well, they’re a bit insular since they lost their parents, and the last time I tried dating someone didn’t work out.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She shook her head. “But that’s not the point.” Inhaling, she continued, “Rick, whatever happens between you and me, what I really hope is that you’ll stay part of our lives. And, I know each of my girls is hoping that will happen.” Quietly, she added, “And I think you’d be a good person for them to know better.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like your daughters. They’re good kids.” Ranger had paused his gentle massage, and was now simply circling light caresses along her side, down her leg, and back up. “And I hear you,” he affirmed quietly. “They need adults who keep their promises. And you deserve that too,” his hand continued its scrolling passage along her skin, making its own pledge. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’m only a man, Steph. Flawed as anyone. But I do what I can to keep my promises. And I know you might need me to prove that again, after the past few years. So that’s what I intend to do.” He pulled her closer to him and touched his lips against her brow. “As best I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too, Rick,” Stephanie assured, letting the quiet that followed their words rest along them like a blanket. Distant sounds of weekend traffic echoed from a couple blocks away, like slow waves brushing against a distant urban shore; the light breezy tap of the tree outside the window was like her home reminding her of its heartbeat. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After some amount of time had passed, Stephanie realized she was once again tracing the spiral markings over Ranger’s heart. Languidly, she gave into her natural curiosity. “This is nice,” she drizzled her words slowly into speech. “But I didn’t think you were into tattoos. You still have that scar on your forearm where you had one removed before I knew you.” She pulled her fingertips away, briefly touching Ranger’s arm to make her point, before returning to brush against his chest.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger stretched in place, subtly following the motion of her fingers. “That was true. It was from being in the Army.” His voice, still slow and calm, continued explaining. “No body art in the Rangers when I was serving; it’s part of being high and tight, and disciplined. Also, in Special Forces you never know when you’ll be sent undercover someplace where your markings might make you stand out. So you just don’t do it.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged, his voice low. “I finally decided I wasn’t in the military anymore.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie started tracing the pattern on his chest again with her finger. “I like this one,” she affirmed. “What does the pattern mean? Or is it just art?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger delayed his response, speculation in his face. After a couple of breaths, he casually began brushing his fingers reassuringly against the skin of her arm. “It’s a tribal symbol. From the Caribbean. From the Indians who lived there.” He kissed her forehead softly and she snuggled her head into the hollow of his neck, not needing to see his face to know this mattered to him, somehow.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is it like a warrior’s symbol? Like a shield.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His hand continued its gentle, slow movement. “Not quite,” he answered quietly. “More like a token of protection, of power.” As she made a vague questioning sound, he continued, “It’s like a sign that the tribe is protected. That the strength is within.” After a few moments of silence, he concluded, “I got it a few years ago in Puerto Rico. It just spoke to me, at the time.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She nodded and murmured, “It looks right on you. And it means the right thing too. You protect the tribe.” She felt him chuckle briefly as she started moving her hand along his side, feeling his cooled skin under her palms where sweat had evaporated. A rumble of appreciation emanated low in Ranger’s chest, and she smiled. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That made her remember the other tattoo she’d seen while they’d been making love. She moved her hand down to his hip, rounding his chiseled butt, and asked, “Rick, what about the other one, the spotted cat tattoo you have down here?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s hand on her arm stilled its movement, though it remained warm against her. “It’s a leopard, Babe.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Why do you have a leopard riding your ass?” She felt his muscles tense and worried that she’d gotten too intimate somehow. She pulled her head up and looked at his face, ready to apologize, but was surprised by a sweet smile. His brown eyes were dark in an expression she couldn’t quite read. But, with that smile, she knew it wasn’t anger. Stephanie raised her face to kiss him on the chin as a peace offering, and was surprised by another chuckle.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Moving to kiss her nose in return, Ranger’s eyes sparkled into humor. “Only you, Babe.” He chuckled as she looked at him quizzically. “That was what I was called in the Rangers: The Leopard. </span>
  <em>
    <span>El leopardo</span>
  </em>
  <span>. That persona used to ‘ride my ass’ as you’d say, but I decided he’d be better off watching out for it.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I like it. It’s fierce, but it coils around your… well, your cheek muscle in a way that’s really sensual. It flexes with you, like it’s stretching and ready to pounce at the same time. Sexy and dangerous.” She smiled and mumbled to herself, “yeah, that totally works.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You were watching my ass while we made love?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Among other things. It’s a really great ass.” She smiled impishly, feeling herself heating up again just thinking about it. She moved her hand and felt him smile slightly and shift in her arms. Leaning back, he pulled her higher against his side. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As her hand stretched down, her fingers conforming around the bunched muscles of his thigh, Stephanie found the most notable of the scars she’d encountered in the night that had just passed. It was high inside his thigh, on skin that was otherwise smooth. She’d been around street cops long enough to recognize a bullet mark when she saw it. And to know when it was near a major artery; less than an inch over and he probably would have bled out. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How did you get this?” she soothed her fingers over his skin. Even though she could tell that the lumpy discoloration was at least a year old, she felt retroactively protective, as though her touch could take away the harm to his skin. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That scar?” At Stephanie’s nod, Ranger’s matter-of-fact voice explained, “It was a few years ago, now. I was shot on a DEA job.” His fingers had stopped moving; his hand simply holding her against him. “We’d busted into a cartel money-counting room and had the perp, but then a car backfired in the distance and the agent’s attention was distracted.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged. “The man we’d been in the process of capturing, a mid-level enforcer called Griz, grabbed one of the girls in the house. Just another runaway who hadn’t yet figured out what her supposed boyfriend wanted her to do for a living.” Ranger’s eyes were focused darkly in the distance as he spoke, frown lines etching themselves on his face.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did she remind you of Julie?” Stephanie asked quietly into his silence.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah, a little.” Almost too soft for her to hear, Ranger added, “They all do, really.” He exhaled. </span>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>But more importantly, there weren’t enough of us to grab the man, and none of us had a clear shot. So someone had to go secure the girl he’d grabbed.” His shoulder shifted slightly under her. “I realized I was the only one in range who didn’t have a family waiting back home.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His muscles tightened like a hardened memory triggering under his skin. “As with any take-down, I could describe everything that happened next, because I always remember the details moment-by-moment. But, essentially, I managed to dive in and pull the girl away from Griz. He got a shot off before the agents dropped him. Since I’d rolled to protect the girl, he got me instead of her. Unfortunately he shot my leg, instead of my vest where I was protected.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger pursed his lips before continuing in a matter-of-fact tone, as though reporting something he’d seen from afar. “Of course, it was a planned DEA takedown, so there was an emergency medical team down the street.” More quietly, he added, “Griz and I were the only ones injured in the whole situation, so I did my job. The hostage was safe, we closed down an operation that was even bigger and nastier than we’d known, and Griz’s testimony eventually brought down some key players up and down the coast.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie shivered. In her mind’s eye, Ranger was lying on the ground, the blood from his leg rapidly saturating his clothes in the hubbub surrounding an active hostage situation. Superimposed, he was lying in her livingroom, his daughter holding his hand as he bled his life out from his neck, his arms still spread in surrender as the EMTs raced to help him. Unbidden, Stephanie’s fingers reached up to brush against that older scar, pale against Ranger’s neck, as though reassuring themselves that scars could represent healing as well as harm.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His voice still measured, Ranger spoke through Stephanie’s imagination like a narrator adding details. “That scar on my leg looks worse than it was. I was only in the hospital for a couple of days that time. Then home on crutches by the time the doctors—and especially the nurses— were ready to shoot me all over again.” His lips twitched in humor that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Apparently, I’m not a model patient.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie half-snorted at his retelling. “Rick,” she pushed back so she was looking directly in his eyes. “You don’t need to sugarcoat it for me. I know a life-threatening injury when I see one. And I remember that you’re as bad a patient as I am.” But that wasn’t what was bothering her. Not exactly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shaking her head, she blurted, “Why have you always thought it was okay to risk your life? Like it’s the obvious solution, not the last resort.” She stopped, thinking through what she’d just said. Then, wondering, Stephanie half-whispered. “Do you think nobody would care?” She saw a flicker of puzzlement draw his brows together. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before he could answer, she continued, “Okay, I know it’s not that simple. And that you’ve dedicated yourself to keeping people safe, putting yourself between the bad guys and people who need protection.” Stephanie pulled her hand across Ranger’s chest, with its other familiar, healed scars. “But, people care about you. Just as much as people care about the people you save. Your family would’ve mourned if you’d died. Julie would be desolate. There’d never be another </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> again, in their lives.” Stephanie swallowed.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick…” she stopped, searching for words. “For at least a year, I did think you had died, and nobody was telling me. It was horrible, like there was a hole in the world that would never be filled.” She pulled back, suddenly needing to make sure she had his attention. But then, that wasn’t enough. Without conscious thought, her muscles coiled and her fist sailed forward, hitting Ranger’s shoulder with a quiet smack. Not hard enough to bruise but enough to free the emotions suddenly swirling in her mind.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her eyes widened as she fought the watery blurring of her vision. “And then… and then you almost died </span>
  <em>
    <span>again</span>
  </em>
  <span>, when that guy shot you in the leg, and I didn’t even know.” Suddenly Stephanie was breathing heavily, the air she needed fighting against her lungs, which were already were full. “You would have been dead, for real. You wouldn’t be here right now. I would’ve missed you, but I wouldn’t have even known you were gone.” She felt herself shudder as she worked to keep her voice steady.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s expression softened. “Stephanie,” he said, his deep voice even more expressive and layered than when he was able to convey hours of meaning by just saying </span>
  <em>
    <span>Babe</span>
  </em>
  <span>. His hands tightened where they had remained holding her. “Stephanie,” he repeated, pulling her back to his chest. “It’s okay, I know,” he stroked her hair. “I’ve got you,” he murmured as he cradled her against his warmth. “I’m here.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Feeling his steady inhale and exhale beneath her, his large hands firm along her skin, Stephanie felt the truth of his words. It was true: he was </span>
  <em>
    <span>here</span>
  </em>
  <span>, with her. She felt her breath even out, matching his. The masculine scent that was distinctly Ranger—his cooling sweat, his distinctive musk—infused her nostrils with the reminder of how she’d always felt safe with him. It was like a sense of completion, a promise.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a moment, his voice resumed its soothing tone. “Steph, I know I don’t make it easy for those around me,” his breath ruffled through her hair. “And I can’t change the past. But, I can tell you that one of the reasons I want to switch to PI work is to get away from those types of situations.” She felt the depth of his exhale, from the expansion of his chest up through the breath he puffed audibly through pursed lips.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Steph,” his whispered voice rumbled, “the last few jobs—this one in particular—have shown me that it’s time for a change.” He shrugged. “The phrase ‘I’m too old for this shit’ comes to mind more often than I’d like. But it’s also… I want something more.” Ranger shifted as one of his hands moved up to start fingering through her hair. “I’m good at jumping into the unknown, but it’s better with someone else.” His fingers moved lazily. “With you, if you’re willing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” Stephanie answered, her sharpness muffled by his chest where she was nestled, “that’s what we’ve been discussing for the past, like, twenty four hours.” She rolled her eyes; sometimes men were just dense. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He chuckled out loud. “Steph, remember me saying that I try the patience of a saint?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah okay,” she snorted. “Saint Stephanie here. Being patient.” She pushed herself up on her arm to fully look at Ranger. Seeing the self-aware humor in his eyes balanced by the knowing tilt to his brow, she lost whatever annoyance was threatening to surface. With a quiet laugh, she lightly slapped his shoulder. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, so I’m not a saint, and not always patient. But you knew that. What matters though is that, yeah, as long as you’re straight with me, I’m ready and willing to see if this can work.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, he smiled like the promise of a sunny day that was just for Stephanie’s pleasure. “That’s all I ask, Babe.” Pulling his hand away, he reached up in an exaggerated gesture to rub his shoulder. “And straight isn’t a problem,” his eyes sparkled in a suspicious moment of Ranger humor. “But you’ll have to go easy on me when I’m being dense; you still have a mean right hook there.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And don’t you forget it buster,” she nodded archly. However, just as she was about to tease Ranger for succumbing to her admittedly girly punches, her stomach announced its presence with a loud grumble. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” he deadpanned, with a sage nod. “Time to feed the beast.” He caught her hand as she reached to whap him one more time on the shoulder. “Besides, we do need to get started on the day.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah I know,” Stephanie acknowledged, sitting up as she reached into the pile of garments that were piled on the chair next to the bed. “I told Winkelsteen we’d meet him downtown sometime after one o’clock. We can sift through the results of my last query.” Pulling out her terrycloth robe, she added, “And then we can </span>
  <em>
    <span>both</span>
  </em>
  <span> go to O’Malley’s to meet that Dwyer guy my boss knows, because you know I’m going with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She stood, shrugging on the robe while she noted Ranger’s thoughtful expression. Then, because she could, Stephanie walked to his side of the bed, reached down, and gently mussed his hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached for her hand, pulled it down, and kissed her palm before releasing it. “You’re right, lots to do today,” he smoothly agreed with her. “But we’ll start right, with a shower and breakfast.” He gestured with his chin toward the hall. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” she concurred as she drifted backward to the doorway, trying to concentrate on the plan that was “shower and then breakfast,” and not “shower then back to bed.” Every now and then, Stephanie mused, being an official grown-up was truly not the advantage it was rumored to be. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her inner struggle was soon forgotten, as Ranger turned, put his feet on the floor, and then stood in one smooth, graceful motion. Stephanie’s breath hitched at the sight, her senses tingled. Even in moments when he was most unaware of himself, Ranger was magnificent. A </span>
  <em>
    <span>man</span>
  </em>
  <span> in every sense of the word. A warrior whose body was covered with marks—intentional and otherwise—that told the tale of his heroism and power. And, since last night, once again her lover. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Ranger stepped toward her, Stephanie’s gaze was snared momentarily by the picture of her Grandma Mazur on her dresser’s mirror. Young Grandma Mazur; full of spunk and zestfully watching the world around her. Stephanie snorted, imagining that today’s very masculine view from the dresser was possibly one of her zestful grandma’s best days, thus far, in the afterlife. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then he reached her, enveloping Stephanie in his arms, the warmth of his body firm along her robed form. “Babe,” he murmured in her ear, bussing her curls with his warm, intimate breath. Stephanie smiled; yeah, this could be one of her own best days thus far, also. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0033"><h2>33. Getting Direction</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 33: Getting Direction</b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger had always prided himself on being smart. Or rather, on being able to figure out the angles before everyone else, improvise plans in heat of the moment, and take action to neutralize opponents’ moves before they’d even realized that action was needed. It was a skill that had gotten him out of more scrapes while growing up than he preferred to remember. And, as an adult, he’d built more than one career based on having that ability. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Ranger also knew when he, himself, had been outmaneuvered.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick,” Stephanie said from the passenger seat. “I think you were supposed to have taken that last left turn. Savin Hill is that way.” Her hand raised across the center console to point vaguely behind him. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Defensive driving maneuvers Babe,” he explained, scanning traffic. “Obscuring our path.” He felt the corner of his lip twitch in amusement as, seeing an opportunity, he quickly crossed lanes and then turned right a half-second after the light changed from yellow to red. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well I guess it's working, because you've definitely obscured our path from me.” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “However, if you change your plans and decide you want to get your fingernails done, I know a nice lady not far from here who does acrylic nails with custom lacquer designs. She’s just beyond the Collins Funeral Home, by the Vietnamese TV repair guys.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ll keep that in mind,” Ranger couldn’t help a quiet chuckle as he checked his rearview mirror. No obvious tails from that last turn. Glancing at his GPS, he took another quick right— this time into a glorified alley—seeing that its next cross street would take him back to Dorchester Avenue headed back to the street with O’Malley’s Pub.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stephanie leaned forward, glaring suspiciously at the dumpsters they were currently passing, and then at the chain-linked yard being used as parking for a home oil delivery truck. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Hmmm,” she began. “You know, it’s almost as though…,” she tapped her notably unlacquered fingernails on the dashboard ahead of her. “As though you’re hoping I’ll get bored with all this driving around and tell you to drop me at the subway, so you can go visit that Dwyer guy at O'Malley's without me.” She squinted appraisingly at him, and Ranger was suddenly reminded of how intrigued he’d been—hell, how hard his dick had gotten—when he’d first met Stephanie in that Trenton diner, and seen the steel hiding inside her Jersey manners. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>wanted</span>
  </em>
  <span> to see her full potential. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you know that’s not gonna happen, right Rick?” Stephanie prodded. “Because I’m going in with you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled in wry humor; this was the Stephanie Plum he remembered, and she wasn’t going to drop his earlier attempt to persuade her that only Ranger should visit the pub, given the potential danger. Honestly, though, she’d been right in all the points she’d raised. And, so he’d adjusted his plan for the day, and here they were together driving to O’Malley’s Pub to meet a reputed former IRA operative for intel.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I know, Steph,” he concurred while slowing for a cat that had just slunk into the alley, allowing it to cross. “I agree with you. Your boss set this up, you’re the one who has the invitation to meet with Dwyer.” He shrugged slightly, readying himself to relinquish another point to the discussion. “Besides Steph, you’re the one wearing the Boston College clothing he requested as a signal.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger took a moment to concede inwardly that the sweatshirt lent by Stephanie’s neighbor Darius had been the only B.C. apparel in the house that was big enough to fit her. And that she was the right one to wear it.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the damned thing still smelled of the man’s Polo aftershave. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger resolved, yet again, that it was the last time he’d willingly see her wearing another man’s clothing. Realizing that his grip on the steering wheel was tighter than it should be, he took a quick moment to relax his hands—and his facial expression—and then he inclined his gaze briefly toward Stephanie and her finally uncrossed arms.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“But I was serious, Steph, that you need to steer clear of the rest of this case. We’ve got a plausible excuse why you’re looking into Dwyer’s nephew Fennelly today, since Fennelly’s on the Boston PD docket. But the rest of the guys I’m pursuing…  well, there’s a reason I’m working this case alone.” He inhaled. “They’re truly dangerous people. Not something I say lightly.” Ranger focused on threading his way between two parked cars in the narrow alley before adding, “And I’m more convinced of that given the names we saw from your computer search earlier.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And, it was true. While sitting in the computer lab with Stephanie and her friend Winkelsteen over the past couple of hours, Ranger had felt a distinct chill on reviewing Stephanie’s latest results. Not a sensation that came from the forced air in the room. The combination of names that Stephanie’s final search had turned up put all the pieces together for him. Of course, the name of one of the holding companies she’d identified earlier, Sertorius Trust, had seemed familiar somehow. And the pseudonym Piccolo Lupo, which she’d mentioned last night, had made Ranger suspicious. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But today’s results had been like a message directly to Ranger. As he scanned through Stephanie’s results, he’d seen the name of additional holding company tied to both Lupo and Sertorius Trust. He’d recognized the holding company name; it had been a codename for a covert operation Ranger had seen coming down the wire around the time he’d left the service. And Ranger knew the person responsible for that operation, and now knew his true target. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His name was John Whelan, and it finally all made sense. Ranger knew the man from his earliest days in Special Ops. About a decade older, Whelan had been an intelligence officer, one of the devious ones whose corkscrew imprint could be felt on a number of the shadier operations to which Ranger had exposure. A man whose operations Ranger had quickly learned to avoid. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Ranger recalled the inside jokes at the time. Whelan’s small stature and Napoleon-like gestures. His passion for the generals of the latter days of the Roman Republic, including the rebel Sertorius. The fact that he’d read cold war spy novels almost obsessively. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger also remembered Whelan’s own inebriated assertion in a nameless bar that his surname, in Gaelic, meant “the wolf.” </span>
  <em>
    <span>Piccolo Lupo; small wolf, indeed,</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ranger frowned. Whelan had been proud of his name’s meaning; had felt it apt that it evoked cunning, intelligence, deceptive strength for his size, and very sharp teeth.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>It had only been an hour since that discovery, but in the intervening time Ranger’s mind had been turning over all the events from the past few months. And it all finally made sense. In ways, the knowledge was already helping him to unravel connections he hadn’t previously understood. He now could see that his initial target, Mateus Figueroa the father who’d abducted his own children, was an amateur operative within a network of domestic support that had been probably cultivated for years. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger could also see that his main challenge was to stop and expose someone as devious and well connected as Whelan this late in whatever operation was clearly underway. Ranger spared a moment to remember his contact, Tino Clark, who’d originally set him on his current investigation. He now understood why his connection at the former Blackwater had reported, as recently as yesterday, that no trace of Clark could be found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After sitting quietly for a moment, Stephanie reached out to touch him. “Rick, you still here with me?” At his nod, she continued, “Don’t worry. I told you before; I don’t rush into things the way I did.” She squeezed his arm lightly before letting go. “I don’t know anything about that Piccolo Lupo guy whose name we found, or the guys you’re chasing. But my spidey senses are tingling overtime and I can tell that you’re being extra cautious. So that’s enough warning for me; I wish I could help, but I’ll trust you to tell me if I can.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Your trust matters to me,” Ranger’s lips softened into a brief smile. She still didn’t know how much she’d already helped him over this past week, and in how many ways. He resolved to find the words to explain it to her, later, after he was able to put his current pursuit to rest. Talking about himself, about his vulnerabilities, wasn’t his strength. But if he was going to actually try a relationship with someone as verbal as Stephanie, he needed to find a way.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>However, right now, he needed to preclude any urge to jump into the action she still might have. So, he added, “You’ll be helping in a big way by staying on the sidelines.” Seeing her posture shift, Ranger considered how to best explain his thoughts. “Steph,” he began as he paused at the intersection, looking for a break in the traffic, “it’s as simple as this: knowing that you’re behind the lines simplifies my tactics. It means I don’t have to plan multiple sets of alternate contingencies to account for where you might show up, and how I’d need to alter my actions in each case. Fewer balls in the air.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t tell her that he would still plan scenarios to keep Stephanie and her family safe, even if she stayed out of the action. That he’d already done so. What was important was that she remained out of the line of fire, especially starting when Ranger began flushing out his targets to when they were in custody. That was always the most delicate and dangerous part of an operation.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Waiting for Stephanie’s reaction, he pulled into traffic, now headed toward O’Malley’s Pub. If he didn’t see any obvious tails, he’d take a direct route for the rest of the drive. Meanwhile, he’d scope out possible paths to use for eluding possible tails later, as they were leaving the pub. Given the hints of old IRA connections Steph’s boss had given, Ranger had no doubt that their intended contact, Aidan Dwyer, would watch their arrival and departure carefully. It would be good for Dwyer to know he wasn’t dealing with amateurs.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did you do that back in Trenton?” Stephanie interrupted his thoughts. “I mean, were you always making plans on what to do if I showed up unexpectedly?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger couldn’t help but chuckle. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Yes, and no, and yes.</span>
  </em>
  <span> That was a question that could take all day to discuss in all its contexts. But he knew what she was trying to ask. “Yeah, I did always build extra contingencies in my plans when I was working with you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>His eyes crinkled in amusement. “It gave me a good excuse to pull out all the training I had on alternative scenario planning in civilian settings back in the military. But,” he admitted ruefully, “I eventually decided that the instructors at Fort Benning should throw away their books and training videos and instead hire you to model unexpected tactics and real-time adjustments during joint operations.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a pause, Stephanie asked, “Was I really that difficult?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger noted that her voice was carefully neutral. Reaching to the side, he brushed back a lock of hair that was dusting her shoulder. “What was difficult was having to worry whenever things went sideways. And discovering, repeatedly, that I didn’t have anything even remotely like a playbook for the types of situations you got into. Which is saying something, given my training.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He shrugged, running his gloved fingers lightly down her arm before he pulled his hand back to the steering wheel. “On the flip side, I can see now that you kept me on my toes. Kept me from getting rusty while I was spending most of my time tracking down two-bit car thieves and wiseguy wannabes for Vinnie and Les Sebring.” Ranger raised his brow wryly. “More than half the time, you were harder to track down than their lowlifes.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He didn’t want to add that usually the reason he’d needed to track her was because she’d been in life-threatening danger and he’d known that the clock was ticking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He also didn’t mention that Tank had told Ranger point-blank that he’d been addicted to the adrenaline, to the mobilization through crisis that Stephanie evoked. That Ranger’s continuing involvement with the Bombshell Bounty Hunter’s emergencies had kept him from transitioning out of the battlefield into civilian life. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Somewhere over the past few years, Ranger had concluded that Tank had been at least partly right about that, as about many things.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That said, after a hell of a lot of soul-searching, Ranger had also concluded that his reactions to Stephanie had been his own issue, not hers. So, shrugging casually, he added, “Basically Steph, I was just really glad that you were a friendly, and not a foe.” With a sideways glance of genuine amusement, Ranger confessed, “Batman might not have been able to win against the supervillain version of Stephanie.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She snorted, and then began laughing in earnest. Ranger felt a smile lift his own lips. Her laughter never failed to lighten the dark places in his memory, giving him balance. That was one of the aspects of his relationship with Stephanie that Tank had always discounted. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he passed a subway station, Ranger looked at the street signs and could tell that they were a few blocks from their destination. Slowing slightly, he began a driving scan of the surrounding area. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Like the blocks they’d been driving through, it was mostly residential, with a scattering of small, stand-alone businesses. A dry-cleaning shop and a plumbing contractor bounded one intersection. Stretching away along each block, rows of multi-storey, pointed-roof Victorian homes—whose bowed porches and repaired woodwork revealed that they clearly dated from that era—were interspersed with flat-fronted apartment buildings. A small deli at another corner perched along the sidewalk, with all its former windows bricked shut except for a single picture window with painted statues of the Virgin Mary and probably Saint Patrick gazing out serenely from either side.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Overall, an aging working-class neighborhood in one of Boston’s ethnic enclaves, with some amount of foot traffic on a brisk, overcast Saturday afternoon. The occasional nods between pedestrians underlined that some people knew each other. So not as transient as some other areas in this portion of the city. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After his final pass, Ranger pulled his truck into the first space he found empty of chairs, broken dressers, and other physical signals that a parking place was off-limits. Of course that meant he was parked in front of a hydrant, but Ranger had the measure of this neighborhood. Being an outsider was a given; there was no advantage to being a visibly clueless or seemingly arrogant one.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger shrugged mentally as he turned off the ignition. This was actually a good spot. Looking down the row of parked cars, he could see O’Malley’s at the intersection where the current street ended, a couple of short blocks away. Of course, he knew it was O’Malley’s because they’d passed it during his loop around the block. He’d been proud of Stephanie; she’d pointed it out verbally as they’d passed it without gesturing or turning her head. He smiled; she was a veteran of urban reconnaissance, like him.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay Babe, what’s our plan when we go in?” Ranger asked as he adjusted his jacket over his weapons holster, deciding that he didn’t need a disguise for this meeting. Then, glancing at Stephanie, he made a quick decision to pull off his driving gloves. Regardless of her answer, he knew it was best to be barehanded when accompanying her. Black leather gloves made him look like an enforcer. Like a man careful to protect his knuckles while inflicting damage. A man who was always careful to avoid leaving prints or DNA behind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He looked sufficiently dangerous—and could live up to that appearance—without adding the impression that Stephanie was somehow associated with organized crime.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stephanie had paused, smiling. “You know, I’d forgotten how much I liked that.” At Ranger’s tilted head, she elaborated. “I like that you always included me in the planning for a situation. Even like this, when I know you’d rather do this yourself, your own way.” She reached out, fingers loosely wrapping his palm. “Thank you.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The corners of his lips tilted into a brief smile. “If others don’t include you, it’s their loss,” Ranger replied honestly, “Besides, I agree with what you said earlier: it’s your turf and your contact.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Stephanie removed her seatbelt and turned to face Ranger. “So, I think we go in together, but I’ll be the main person talking. I’ve done some research into Fennelly’s case file and his family, and I think I know how to approach Dwyer about him. And besides, they’ll be more likely to talk with me anyway.” Probably misinterpreting his thoughtful expression, she elaborated, “Think about it. This is an Irish neighborhood bar, and you visibly won’t fit in. So let’s use that. We won’t say why you’re there; you’re just with me.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. “That works,” he agreed. And, honestly, that wasn’t too different from the plan he would’ve articulated. “I’ll walk in behind you. They’ll know that you are professional and have back up. So they won't be as inclined to mess with you. And they’ll waste time wondering if they should be worried about me, while you get to be ‘good cop.’” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Rick, I’m almost always ‘good cop’ so you’ll balance me,” Stephanie smiled. Then, with an impish smile, she added, “And hey, I still remember the little leg-tap-thingy that means I need you to say something.” She reached out and tapped him lightly on the thigh—a Morse code “S”—to prove her point.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Amused at a memory from one of the early jobs they did together, Ranger opened his door. “Well that proves it: we’re ready. Let’s do this.” Stephanie nodded in agreement and clambered out of the truck before Ranger had a chance to get to her side and open the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they walked down the sidewalk, they passed a few people bundled lightly against the chill in the air. As each one passed, they glanced and then quickly averted their eyes. Ranger had no doubt, though, that he and Stephanie had been noted. Drapes fluttered behind closed windows in one of the three-decker houses. A shadow paused behind the frosted door windows at another. A half block later, a well-bundled woman sweeping leaves off her concrete entryway clearly tracked them with her eyes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But the handful of children playing outside remained in their chain-link-rimmed yards; the teenagers who’d dismantled a motorbike continued working in their driveway. So it was the normal watchfulness of a traditional neighborhood. It almost reminded Ranger of the block where he'd grown up, except for the Boston accents and the selection of music that emanated from the garage behind the young mechanics. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As they approached the cross street, Ranger took a closer look at O’Malley’s. A squat building set between a hardware store and a laundromat, it was clearly a neighborhood bar that had spurned any hints of gentrification. It was the type of building that passersby would ignore unless they had a reason to go there. Partly it was the mottled, moss-colored concrete wall with an aging brown-shingled overhang. Partly it was the closed, flat wooden door that looked more like the entrance to a utility closet than a bar. And, partly it was the heavy drapes in the high, inset casement windows that framed dusty neon Michelob and Pabst Blue Ribbon logos.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truly the only inviting thing about the place was the large Guinness logo lettered in copper above the door. Ranger idly noticed that was almost as large as the bar’s yellowed name on the 1960s-style plastic sign above it. It was a dated esthetic, an attitude captured in time, a homely ballast that stubbornly held the neighborhood in place through the waves of change. A place that wasn’t particularly inviting, unless you already felt welcome. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Slowing his pace slightly, so she’d be in the lead when they entered the pub as agreed, Ranger’s gaze shifted to Stephanie. He’d always been impressed by the natural confidence in her posture, by her bearing that showed she felt she belonged wherever she was. Then as he watched, he saw a subtle adjustment, a squaring of the shoulders coupled with a lift to her chin. And with that, her posture conveyed a sense of presence, of </span>
  <em>
    <span>authority</span>
  </em>
  <span>, that was something new. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he felt a sudden upwelling of pride. In the years since he’d known her, Stephanie had grown into the strength he’d always imagined was hiding within. She’d become a woman whose new mysteries he wanted to learn, even while he remembered her so well.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay, here goes,” Stephanie muttered as they neared the pub’s door, which muffled the sound of conversation and tuning guitars from within. Unfastening her jacket so the Boston College logo on her sweatshirt was visible, she then reached out. She smiled up at Ranger as her hand found his already on the doorknob. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ladies first,” he pulled open the door and tilted his head toward the interior. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Conversation continued to eddy around them as they entered, though Ranger had no doubt that they’d been detected. He kept his hands visible as his eyes scanned calmly from the bar to the small stage on his right, where a huddle of young men who seemed to be a U2 tribute band were loosely gathered. At least, that’s what Ranger assumed from the guitar chords they were rehearsing, not to mention the homemade </span>
  <em>
    <span>Heart of the Joshua Tree </span>
  </em>
  <span>banner.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The bartender nodded once in acknowledgement as they approached, his bar rag pushed to the side of the dark, varnished surface. The man’s eyes flicked to Ranger, then back to Stephanie. “Welcome to O’Malley’s,” he said. “What can I get for you?” A balding man somewhere in his mid-40s, the bartender was clearly from the area, based on his pronunciation of just those few words. It almost reminded Ranger of home, though the New Jersey accent’s plural of you—</span>
  <em>
    <span>youz</span>
  </em>
  <span>—was something like </span>
  <em>
    <span>yiz</span>
  </em>
  <span> in these older parts of Boston, and the letter “r” seemed absent more than not. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Stephanie replied to the bartender with disarming enthusiasm. “This is a nice place, I’ve never been here before. It feels really homey, like it would be nice to come here after work and meet with all your friends.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger smiled internally at her unfailing instinct to connect with people. Standing to the side, with a view of Stephanie’s face, the bar, and the assortment of wooden tables past the bar, he scoped out the room while she and the bartender traded small talk. It was mid-afternoon, so only a quarter-or-so of the pub’s tables were occupied, mostly by men who ranged in age from about twenty to several with graying hair. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The only windows were in front. There was a rear exit, loosely ringed by tables and chairs that he’d have no difficulty clearing, if needed. The area where dartboards and a set of throwing lines had been outlined on the floor was near a staircase leading down, probably to where beer kegs fed the draft faucets along the bar’s edge. Someone could hide there, so he’d keep that in mind. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s attention snapped back to Stephanie as she leaned forward across the bar. “We’re actually here to see the manager of the band,” she said with a self-conscious shrug. Knowing that this phrase, along with her B.C. sweatshirt were the so-called secret handshake that her boss Ryan had provided, Ranger watched for reaction. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And then, at the table in the far corner, he saw movement. A wiry man with a full head of gray hair, thin lips, and assessing gunmetal eyes had turned his gaze toward Stephanie. After a moment, the man raised his hand slightly from the table with the fingers of his right hand held in a gesture that looked, to Ranger, like a signal. Without shifting, Ranger inhaled, clearing his mind and readying himself in case he needed to move suddenly. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But then the bartender commented, “Right, he’ll see you then,” as he pointed toward the table in the darkened corner.  As he spoke, a shorter, stocky man stood up from the same corner table with a nod and headed toward one of the stools at the far end of the bar. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Stephanie smiled again at the bartender as she turned, her fingers lightly brushing Ranger’s hand. “Let’s go,” she said, hitching her purse on her shoulder in a gesture that Ranger had learned was one of her centering gestures. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, then followed her as she weaved between the tables on her way to the corner where, apparently, Aidan Dwyer held court. A few eyes followed them, covertly, but mostly the other people in the bar seemed to mind their own tables’ conversations, or were focused on the band tuning on the diminutive stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, so you must be Stephanie then, is it?” the man commented casually in a voice that had barely noticed his years away from Ireland. At Stephanie’s acknowledgement, he added, “Young Danny Ryan said you’d be stopping by for a bit of chat. It’s been ages since I’ve heard from him, so I have you to thank for that.” He said, head tilted while he took them both in, his hands resting flat on the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>They were the hands of a man who’d seen fighting in his day: large like a day laborer's with wide knuckles. A few age spots and prominent veins and tendons testified to the man’s age. But Ranger also noted the weathered crosshatch of pale scars and burns across both hands, heading up his wrists to where his sleeves began. Possibly a map of occupational accidents, though Ranger also saw that the final joint was missing from the two middle fingers of his left hand, and his index finger was permanently bent. In combination, it was the type of injury with which Ranger was quite familiar from his time in Afghanistan and Iraq. The hands of someone who’d likely spent intimate time with blasting caps or small homemade explosives. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It’s true, Ryan’s a busy guy,” Stephanie’s voice replied to the still seated man. “I work with him and some days I hardly see him.” She paused. “I’m sure you’re busy also, so I’m grateful that you made the time to meet us. Ryan spoke highly of you.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Did he now? Well that’s good to know.” Eying them both again, he sat back in deceptive ease. “But where are my manners?” His hand gestured toward himself. “Dwyer’s the name, Aiden Dwyer. And you’re Stephanie Plum, just as Danny described you.” His hand waved to the chair across from him. “Please, sit. I won’t bite,” he smiled. Ranger’s eyes narrowed, noticing that the older man said </span>
  <em>
    <span>won’t</span>
  </em>
  <span> instead of </span>
  <em>
    <span>don’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And you’re wearing the Boston College Eagles colors to warm an old man’s heart on a chilly day,” Dwyer had continued speaking. “The Eagles, now there’s a team you can get behind, even if it’s that Yankee padded pastime you call football rather than the real footie from across the pond,” Dwyer pursed his lips in a half smile as Stephanie scraped the wooden chair out from the table and took a seat. Ranger shifted slightly closer to the wall nearest Stephanie and leaned against it, posture and facial expression deceptively at ease. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer held up his pint glass, tilting the dark beer at the bottom, in a signal to the bar as he continued speaking, his measuring gaze focused on Stephanie. “They play the college games here on Saturdays on the telly over the bar.” He waved his free hand in that direction, where there was indeed a football game playing, the volume turned down. “It’s like home: a few pints, a good game, the conversation of your friends.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Still watching Stephanie, Dwyer gestured to the front of the pub with his chin, a quick moment of humor dusting his lips. “And sometimes like today, a bit of music, which brings us all together. Again, just like home. What was it that old TV show said? Ah yes: you want to go someplace where everybody knows your name. ‘Tis true: people who know your name, and having earned a place in that community, it’s all a fellow like myself needs.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“So this pub is like the ones where you’re from?” Stephanie asked, her voice reflecting genuine curiosity. “I’ve never been to Ireland, so I don’t know.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer’s smile tightened the corners of his lips and hollowed his lean cheeks. “You should go sometime. With your curly hair and eyes the color of St. Patrick’s blue like a field of cornflowers, you could almost be from my own hometown in the lake counties. So it’s almost like we’re family here.” He took a leisurely sip from his beer, which Ranger could tell was the thick Guinness advertised on the pub’s entryway simply from its dark color and the weighty froth leaving an uneven stripe around the inside of the glass. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Without glancing down, Dwyer put down his pint, centering it on the cardboard beer mat. “But my dear,” he began in the same rolling, conversational voice. “I’m dismayed that you thought you needed to bring a bodyguard to meet an old retired plumber such as myself.” His eyes landed on Ranger, quickly mapping him from head to foot. Ranger returned his gaze calmly, knowing that Dwyer was making a point rather than a threat.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh goodness,” Stephanie said as though dismayed, herself, that such a conclusion could be drawn. She was good, Ranger thought to himself. Even better than he remembered. “He’s my friend, not my bodyguard.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, a friend is it?” Dwyer commented, still focused on Ranger. “Does your friend have a name?” The gentle irony in his voice was countered by the steel in his gaze. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You can call me Richard,” Ranger acknowledged evenly, ignoring the brief sparkle in Stephanie’s eyes. Ricardo, Richard, Rick… He’d run through his aliases on the way over, trying to think of one that John Whelan wouldn’t know. Just in case there was some connection between him and this old, reputed Irish gunrunner whose nephew Fennelly was somehow involved in a scheme Ranger had traced to Whelan. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And finally he’d decided on Richard, a name he’d never used undercover in Special Forces. And gave good cover to Stephanie if she accidentally called him Rick. Of course, there was nothing he could do about it if she called him Ranger, but he trusted her.     </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well then, friend Richard,” Dwyer’s smile took on a knowing cant. “Sit down, friend, and share a pint.” He gestured at the chair nearest to Ranger at the same moment that the bartender arrived at the table, his tray carrying a refill Guinness for Dwyer and two bottles of Harp and a pair of rounded half-pint glasses. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer nodded his head toward the bartender as he began to unload his tray. “Terry here knows me well. He knows that my guests get either Harp or a nice Guinness draught. He’s guessing you’re both more the Harp Lager persuasion. Feel free to change to Guinness, though.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, Harp is fine,” Ranger answered smoothly as he sat, reaching out to take the nearest glass as the bartender finished pouring into it. He watched as Stephanie took a tentative sip, knowing that half the point of the gesture was to accept a favor from the man. Ranger took his own brief sip with a nodded thanks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer sat back slightly, sipping slowly on his own beer while shifting his gaze between Ranger and Stephanie. Finally he put the glass back down and leaned forward, his left arm resting casually on his armrest. “So, the way I hear it, Miss Plum, you’re looking for someone. And you think maybe I can help you, given the connections I have in the trades and such.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s my hope,” Stephanie acknowledged. “And, please call me Stephanie. After all,” she smiled like a ray of sunshine in the shadowed room, “you said we’re like family here.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah,” Dwyer replied with an impish smile. “And so I did. So, Stephanie, what request do you have of family?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, it really is a family thing,” Stephanie nibbled her lip slightly. “I know that you’re aware of where I work,” she paused as Dwyer nodded once. “So, I know some of my colleagues have come asking about one of our missing people, Brendan Fennelly.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger noted the amusement in Dwyer’s expression as Stephanie managed to avoid calling Fennelly a bail jumper or fugitive. Which was probably a good thing, given the scattering of men at nearby tables who were casually acting as though they were not paying attention. Ranger had catalogued each one, and noted that none had moved in several minutes. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, the older man waved his right hand in an ambiguous gesture; something between a tacit acknowledgement and a sign to continue.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie nodded in reply. “Okay, so anyway, you might know something about why he would be on our radar. But, I’m in Community Relations and the reason I’m interested is related to a different case I’ve been digging into.” Ranger stiffened, trying to not telegraph his concern while attempting to casually bump her leg with his under the table. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Her hand drifted down to his leg as she continued speaking. “You’ve probably read about all the recent arrests for street heroin and weapons. Well, one of the women picked up a couple weeks ago for trafficking says she has a child support payment arrangement with Fennelly, which he hasn’t paid in a couple months. Normally that wouldn’t be remarkable, but Fennelly has disappeared from everyone’s radar, and with his background in weapons… well, I’m concerned.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger couldn’t help darting a glance at Stephanie. He’d thought she was about to reveal his pursuit of Fennelly due to a connection with Figueroa and whatever he was involved in. He should’ve known better. After all, she said she'd done some research. But yet, the way she found connections out of nowhere still surprised him. He'd seen the passion for it in her eyes when they’d been at the BPD computer lab earlier. And now, he once again saw her able to use what she'd found. Which was information he hadn't seen anywhere in the records he’d managed to scan.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning forward slightly, Dwyer’s eyes narrowed in calculation. “Fennelly, you said? Brendan Fennelly.” He tipped his head. “Well, it’s not like all us Irish all know one another. It’s a small country we’re from, but FBIs aren’t all cousins or drinking buddies who get together for some pints and free bowls of crisps-on-the-house at Doyle’s or some other fancy tourist pub once a month.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“FBIs?” Stephanie asked at the older man’s pause. “And I thought Doyle’s was popular,” she added with a look of genuine confusion.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer chuckled quietly, sitting back again. “Foreign Born Irish, darling. I got carried away there, a bit. And Doyle’s is popular. Just with a different set, if you know what I mean. Politicians and rock stars and college kids who think they’re slumming it because they’re sitting under some old framed pictures from Sligo and Limerick. Not a place you’d find an old tradesman such as myself.” He chuckled again. “You see, there are as many pubs as there are types of people. Pubs like this,” his hand described a lazy circle, “are where working men such as myself  congregate.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dwyer stopped for another sip of beer, Ranger shifted in his chair slightly, creating an opportunity to quickly scan the room’s quadrants, updating his mental model of where people were located. It was second nature in any venue he didn’t know, but knowing that he was Stephanie’s backup gave him awareness of this routine task, along with a surprising, rekindled sense of pride in his ability. He finished his scan with his eyes back on Dwyer.   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning forward to set his beer down, Dwyer resumed speaking. “But tell me this, darling: why is it you care to find this ne’er-do-well Fennelly you’ve described. The real reason, since I know enough about family squabbles in the States to figure that some meddling organization with a name like Family Services would be looking into the support arrangements for an arrested woman’s child.” He nodded. “Though I don’t doubt that you care about her situation, and the child’s. You seem the type.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie leaned forward, mirroring Dwyer’s posture, one of her elbows casually on the table. “Well, I don’t know if this happens to you, but sometimes things all seem to come together in a way that looks important, even if I don’t understand it. In this situation, we have a fellow who skipped bail after he was arrested as part of a weapons dealing sting. He’s missed a couple months of child care payments after about five years of mostly paying, which is unusual.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie leaned back as Dwyer motioned for her to continue. “And his arrest is weird, too, because he’s a new player. He supposedly has a background in explosives, but we mostly know about that because apparently he bragged about it to witnesses. Most recently, I think, at Geary’s Pub.” She continued staring into Dwyer’s eyes as she added, “Which people tell me is a place where people who had real bragging rights congregated twenty years ago, or so.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger studied the tension around Dwyer’s eyes. Stephanie might have stretched the truth in her comments; he couldn’t swear that Fennelly had bragged as she claimed. But the man had been there. And the cops had been patrolling around the bar. So it was possible. Plausible. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Stephanie shrugged. “Anyhow, I don’t know what it all means,” she brushed a lock of hair back in an almost schoolgirl gesture. “Like you said, I’m just in Community Relations. But, I’m worried that he could be in over his head.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She gazed up, a guileless expression that Ranger recognized as one of Stephanie’s true secret powers. “I think he’s trying to run guns, or maybe explosives. And I just wish we could find him. Keep him from pulling others down with him—maybe even family—in whatever’s gotten him into trouble.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And with that, Ranger could tell that Stephanie had hooked Dwyer, who’d started drumming the fingers of his right hand against the table. Finally he looked up, his eyes like bullets. “So, friend Richard, what do you think of all this? Do you think this Fennelly lad, who sounds as useless as a chocolate teapot, has his hands in anything as dangerous as guns and blasting caps? Or is he just another deadbeat father who wanted an excuse to get away from his old lady?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I trust Stephanie’s research and instincts. To your question though, perhaps both things are true,” Ranger shrugged. “What’s more interesting to me is what he’s doing at a place like Geary’s while out on bail. With that pub’s history, I wonder whether he’s bragging to sell his services or if he’s looking to buy guns. With the charges he’s facing, it sounds like the latter. But again, maybe both are true.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Dwyer sat motionless for a moment, his face a mask. He finally reached his hand out for his beer, took a long sip, and then sat forward as he settled his glass back on the dark varnished table.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, friend Richard, someone like that is a wildcard, isn’t he? The kind of rank amateur who gets involved with the wrong people and then balls it up for people who know what they’re doing.” Dwyer pursed his lips, hollowing his cheeks. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The older man’s eyes flashed. “Now if I knew anything about buying and selling weapons—which of course I don’t—these days it’s not the Irish or Italian social clubs that you’d be talking to. It’s either one of those gangs with Central American leanings, or the fringe of Americans who want the right to arm all the bears, if I got that right.” His eyes glittered briefly with something between humor and malice. “You certainly wouldn’t start at Geary’s, talking about other people’s glory days. It’s a gobshite idiot move, that is.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger simply nodded as Dwyer confirmed his own conclusions. Casually shifting his view to Stephanie momentarily, Ranger saw the glint of satisfaction in her expression. But of course, she’d known from her boss that Geary’s was a reputed hangout for Dwyer and his cronies, back in the day. Dwyer, the reputed IRA explosives expert.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, you might be catching me at a good time, as it happens,” the older man finally said, putting down his beer as he leaned back with his hands casually settled on the ends of the chair’s armrests. He turned his attention back to Stephanie, though Ranger had no doubt that he was being watched for reaction as well. “Now I wouldn’t know the Fennellys close-like, as they’re not part of my own family. But I’ve heard that there may be a Fennelly lad foostering about down south of the city.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As Dwyer glowered silently into the distance, Stephanie quietly commented, “You know, the rumor is that Fennelly’s your nephew. And that you’d be likely to know what he’s up to.” At that, Ranger shifted slightly, ready to react if Dwyer interpreted that as a veiled accusation. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>But Dwyer simply turned his gaze back to Stephanie. “No darling, I don’t really know him,” Dwyer’s voice was low, almost lost in the tuning of the bass guitar up front. He took a moment to take a sip of beer and then continued, “I know </span>
  <em>
    <span>of </span>
  </em>
  <span>him, if you catch the difference.” He shrugged. “As I recall, one of my brothers knew a lass who was a Fennelly, back a long time ago. Sharp little thing she was, too. Flashy—just the kind my brother liked—though of course his dear wife was not as fond. Well, one thing led to another, as they say, and there seem to be a few more Fennellys in this world than needs be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Ah, I understand,” Stephanie sympathized. “But you should know that those are the rumors, even so. And they’ve been circulating again, fairly recently. As though they’re being repeated.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I understand your drift as well,” Dwyer replied, tilting his head and pursing his lips. After a moment, he glanced at Ranger, calculation in his eyes, and then turned his attention back to Stephanie. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“You know, darling, rumors are just words that people repeat based on memories that might or might not be true. And with that thought, I have a vague memory that this Fennelly plonker perhaps lives in the Irish Riviera, as they used to call the towns down the south shore. In Cohasset, if I recall correctly, in one of those neighborhoods that used to be vacation cabins along the beach in the ’40s. The ones that are quaint little sandy clapboard lean-tos in the summer and chilly as a well digger’s arse in the winter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He reached one of his scarred hands for his now-half-empty pint glass, adding with a nonchalant smile, “Which, of course, you have to take as an old tradesman’s ramblings and storytelling, since I don’t actually know the lad.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I always like a good story.” Stephanie smiled briefly at Dwyer while Ranger dipped his head in a nod, knowing the older man could see him in his periphery. It was a nod of understanding, and confirmation. Dwyer’s information supported the bar gossip that Stephanie’s quirky referral, Gerry, had relayed yesterday when they’d met. Which was that Fennelly was living near Nantasket. From Ranger’s memory of the map, the Nantasket peninsula was just north of Cohasset.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So, Ranger was about to head to Cohasset. Not just for Fennelly, though finding the BPD skip would be a good day’s work and could provide some background information. More importantly, though, Gerry’s information also indicated that Ranger’s true target, Mateus Figueroa, would be at Fennelly’s place over the next few days as well.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger paused to reflect that Gerry was proving to be a solid resource. Definitely someone Ranger would consider for future investigative work in the Boston area.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger’s attention was drawn back to Stephanie as she commented, “We don’t want to take too much of your time today, but someday I should come by and tell you some of my family stories. Cousins, parents, grandparents… I could go on for hours because there are some doozies,” she laughed, a light meringue of sound in the toffee darkness of the pub. Glancing at Ranger, her smile broadened and her eyes sparkled momentarily. “Richard, here, would agree.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That I would,” Ranger affirmed, feeling his brow drift upward in amusement.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That would be lovely, my dear,” Dwyer relaxed back into his chair. “Though I probably couldn’t match story-for-story. With the exception of the ones I don’t acknowledge, my family is close and we keep to the straight and narrow these days.” He nodded toward the musicians in front. “You see the lad over there with the guitar. That’s my grandson Jamie.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Leaning confidentially toward Stephanie, his expression wry, he commented, “I have to say that, to my taste, they play their music a bit too loud. But that’s just my age talking, and it helps that I’m half deaf.” He smirked, as to an inside joke. “But you see, on a Saturday when he could be rabble rousing like the young men did in my day, instead he’s here with his friends—and with his old grand-dad in the room—getting ready to play music with his band. And tonight I happen to know he’ll be with his folks for Saturday dinner, and tomorrow at church for the good of his soul.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He exhaled, sitting back again. “The thing is, you can have say over what your own children do, but not necessarily your brothers and sisters, and their families. It’s a lesson to us all,” he commented over the electric guitar runs and test drum rolls from the stage. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie looked at Ranger, humor and resignation mixed equally in her expression, as she agreed, “Yeah, I have to agree with you on that.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well,” Dwyer looked up, “It’s been an eventful afternoon for an old, retired pipefitter such as myself.” From the twinkle in the older man’s eyes, Ranger suspected that the older man was referring as much to fitting pipe bombs as to installing pipes for plumbing. “But, you’ll probably want to be heading out now, before the final soundchecks. Unless you’d like to join in the boisterous sing-along to ‘Shipping Up to Boston’ that the lads around here like to do.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie chuckled, putting her hands on her armrests as she shifted her weight to stand. “Thanks, but we do need to head out. We really appreciate your hospitality,” she added as Ranger stood. He moved behind her chair, both to be gentlemanly and as an opportunity to scan the disposition of the pub’s customers now that they were preparing to leave.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Well, Danny Ryan spoke highly of you,” Dwyer said as he reached up to shake Stephanie’s outstretched hand. “And I know for a fact he never was one to make up compliments when silence was good enough,” he smiled roguishly and darted his eyes between them. “Which is perhaps why he didn’t say anything about you, friend Richard. But of course you’re Stephanie’s friend, not Danny’s.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“True,” Ranger nodded. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And we see that you’re not a man of many words yourself,” he chuckled quietly. “More a man of action. But that’s good: you’re a good support and bulwark for Stephanie here.” At that, Dwyer turned his attention to her. “Another of my grandsons, Tommy Hearn, speaks highly of you, Stephanie. You helped him out of a sticky situation and got him on the right track, and our family owes you the debt of that.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Oh, I remember Tommy. I didn’t know he was related to you,” Stephanie’s eyes had widened. “He was a good guy with a girlfriend who seemed really nice. He just needed to see that there were real consequences to his actions.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That he did.” Dwyer agreed with a nod. “And you definitely helped with that. He’s got a good job, now, apprenticing to an electrician. Not a plumber, I’m sorry to say, but pipefitting doesn’t run in my family any longer, if you understand my meaning.” For the first time in the conversation, he waved his partially crippled hand. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Then, leaning forward toward both Stephanie and Ranger standing behind her, Dwyer speared them both with a glance. “So you understand, me and my family, we’re close. We keep our hands clean and our powder dry.” His voice dipped an octave and suddenly Ranger saw the reputed IRA weapons expert in front of him, rather than the storyteller. His voice steely, his eyes cold as a death sentence, Dwyer concluded quietly, “And we have no use for flash-in-the-pans who act important for no reason.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie acknowledged the older man’s assertion verbally, while Ranger simply nodded the slow, full-head gesture he’d have made to a chess master who was clearly set up for checkmate. This man, ensconced in his pub and surrounded by family and colleagues, was a professional. Ranger simply recognized him as such. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And he understood the older man’s message—both overt and covert—completely. Ranger had no problem with the man’s disdain for Fennelly, or his fierce protectiveness for family. In that, they were kindred spirits. Perhaps Dwyer would’ve said that they, too, were family. Ranger exhaled a laugh as he escorted Stephanie toward the door. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie impishly slanted her eyes toward Ranger as they passed the stage, where the band had begun their first song. It was boisterous, as the old man had claimed, and they were surprisingly good for a bar band. A couple of the patrons had started to clap in syncopation with the music, as the singer joined his voice to the instruments. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>She leaned up, her voice loud to be heard over the music. “Sure you don’t want to stay for a song or two, maybe a dance?” she asked with a broad, teasing smile. As she reached back for his hand, Ranger could feel that she was swaying to the song. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Babe, hold that thought,” he replied, reaching around her to open the door. To his surprise, it had gotten dark while they’d been inside and his eyes didn’t need to adjust. Ranger had forgotten that Boston was even further north than New Jersey, and the day had been overcast. The winter’s evening had started, canceling the remaining hours of the late afternoon. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie squeezed his hand, still smiling. As the door closed behind them, the music and conversation was again muted; the slight astringency in the chilly air cleansed the pub’s fermented warmth from his nostrils. As he looked, Stephanie exhaled and her breath was a living mist, quickly dissipated into the night air. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Friend Richard,” Stephanie said with an innocence that was charmingly unconvincing. “Let’s head home and plot out what the next steps should be.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Normally, on his own, he’d follow up an intel session like this one by getting into his truck and heading to the location outlined by his informant. In this case, to Cohasset, even though it would get him there at night on someone else’s home turf, without the benefit of prior reconnaissance. But his instincts—and all of Gerry’s information from yesterday—told him he could wait until tomorrow. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And frankly, that he probably </span>
  <em>
    <span>should</span>
  </em>
  <span> wait. See if he could snare both Fennelly and Figueroa in the same maneuver. Take the time for the surveillance he should’ve done before going into that goddamned Allston bodega a week ago, the last time he had a good line on Figueroa. Take a moment to breathe.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Stephanie’s gaze seconded that uncharacteristically unhurried instinct. “That sounds like the right thing to do, Babe,” Ranger affirmed. “Let’s go home.” As he spoke, he felt a warmth in his chest that countered the chill of the air. And that was echoed by the yellowed glow of the streetlights that quickened as he watched, illuminating the night.</span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0034"><h2>34. Another Turn</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 34: Another Turn</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie couldn’t help snorting as she watched yet another woman bump into the faux palm-tree pillar near their table. Charitably, it could be said that the blonde—who was now busy with an attempt to not look flustered as she righted her sandal—had simply been surprised to turn a corner and find Ranger in her path as she walked toward the bar.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie, though, knew that this was only half of the story. Because she, too, had been stunned into speechlessness earlier this evening. All it has taken was the sight of Ranger, emerging from the den, wearing the suit that had arrived via Fedex special delivery sometime during the day. Charcoal gray jacket and pants, with a pale tabbed shirt, his suit was clearly custom tailored and showed off his form really well.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Really, really well. In fact, seeing him in his suit had quickly led to Stephanie imagining him taking off his newly donned jacket in her kitchen, with her hand brushing down his shirt to pull it from his waistband and… well, at that moment Stephanie’s eagerness to go out with Ranger on his mysterious evening adventure had evaporated. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was only Ranger’s hand under her elbow—and the willpower he’d always conveyed with his dark, purposeful gaze—that had gotten them out of the house and on the road. And, finally, here to this club, where Stephanie currently sat at a cafe table covered in a red tablecloth, with a DJ playing salsa music in the background and an almost empty mojito glass between her fingers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yeah, the blonde in the ruched skirt who had finally resumed her somewhat wobbly path to the bar could be forgiven for her momentary distraction when Ranger’s path crossed hers. And, further to her defense, while Ranger had stepped elegantly with a matador’s grace out of the aisle to avoid colliding with her, he’d then turned toward Stephanie and leaned down to set drinks on their table. Having left his jacket draped over his chair, Ranger’s broad shoulders had no-doubt strained the back of his shirt, drawing attention to the raw masculine power coiled under the smooth cotton. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Stephanie could testify that his suit pants perfectly outlined his trim waist and notably muscular legs and rear. Stephanie exhaled wryly; yeah, she probably would’ve walked into the pillar, too. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Earth to Steph,” Ranger’s voice teased close to her ear as he resumed his seat. Glancing up, she saw the amused speculation in his warm, brown gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“See something you like?” he continued. His eyebrow arched up with his words, matching the upturn of his lips in a provocative smile that Stephanie had managed to forget over the years. It was a smile that had always made her skin tingle and her pulse do a quick shimmy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And apparently it also made her drop things, she reflected with a quick eye roll as her empty glass slipped through her fingers and hit the table with a heavy thud that flung its sliver of sugar cane over the table’s edge and onto the floor. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Oh! He did that on purpose</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she glared. He’d always flummoxed her with his provocative comments, heated glances and quick, knowing smiles. His timing was over the top. But, as she spotted the almost-grin on his face as he reached for the fallen garnish, Stephanie saw the slapstick in the moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger humor.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Somehow it reminded her of the kid who’d put gummy worms into Lisa’s shoes last year because, with classic boy logic, he liked her and thought she’d find it funny, too. And probably it had just been a bonus prize when Lisa had screamed, kicked her shoes across the room, and knocked over the box of live grasshoppers that the class had previously planned to release in the garden across from the school.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Stephanie couldn’t help the giggle that welled from within. “Yeah,” she confessed through her laughter. “I definitely see something I like. And you know it too, you big tease,” she mock-slapped his arm. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Dark eyes glinting, Ranger scooted one of the newly filled glasses toward her with his fingertips. “I seem to recall you like a bit of teasing. At least, you seemed to this morning.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh stop,” she exclaimed, with thoughts of </span>
  <em>
    <span>Ranger</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>teasing</span>
  </em>
  <span> so vivid that she was unsure whether to laugh or just call his bluff by running her hand along his well tailored thigh to territory where it might not belong in public. But then, just in time, she recalled this was Ranger: a man who’d have no qualms at seeing her bluff and raising it spectacularly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that moment the DJ interrupted the background music to invite people for a quick dance lesson, and Stephanie remembered she was in the middle of a room full of people that had a few faces she recognized. And who would no doubt recognize her. Blinking, she reached out, picking up the chilled glass and touching it to her suddenly warm cheeks before she took a sip. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Soda water?” Stephanie asked after a moment of confusion. “Not another mojito?” She decided it was okay to pout slightly, since Ranger was being playful. In reality, though, the cleanliness on her palate was welcome. She was still a lightweight drinker and wanted to savor everything this evening.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, I watched the bartender,” Ranger’s lip quirked in amusement. “Let’s just say that the venue isn’t making nearly the amount of margin on alcohol that they could. I figured that first drink was worth about three that you might get at Chili’s or Red Lobster.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you ever actually eaten at a Red Lobster?” Stephanie squinted, trying to imagine Ranger wearing a plastic lobster bib in a booth with fish-picture upholstery. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He shrugged, “You’d be surprised at the places where work takes me. Besides, remember: I used to go to Pino’s with you, and to Shorty’s all the time.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah,” Stephanie agreed. “I’d forgotten about Shorty’s.” She reached for a couple of chips from the bowl in the center of the table. “Cal took me there for dinner right before I left town,” she reminisced. “A couple other guys were there having drinks after work: Woody, Zip, Ram, and the taller Chester….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her voice tailed off as she bit down pensively, remembering the awkwardness of that evening. Like so many places in Trenton, Shorty’s had lost its luster in her last year there. Without Ranger, it had become just a hole-in-the-wall bar frequented by hard men and a handful of no-nonsense women. So much had changed after Ranger had left town; she hadn’t even known half of the Rangemen who were at the table next to the one she and Cal had claimed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At a burst of music from the stage, Stephanie looked up and noticed Ranger’s speculative gaze from across the table. Reaching for more chips—plantain chips, he'd explained earlier—she lifted her chin and banished thoughts of the past. Tonight he was here with her, making new memories. As he’d been doing all week long. Tomorrow he would be returning to the road, looking to finally trap the fugitive Figueroa who’d framed him for murder. Looking to expose whatever plots the man was involved in. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He would succeed, she nodded to herself. And until he returned, as he’d promised, she’d honor the man he’d become by focusing on her new memories and on his clear efforts to make a deeper connection to her. She knew that tonight was part of that; this wasn’t the type of venue designed to impress, it felt very personal. And by the fact he’d had a suit Fedexed to himself, it was obviously planned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Penny for your thoughts, Babe.”</span>
  <span>
    <br/>
  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously?” she blurted as though she'd been caught daydreaming during a pop quiz. “When have you ever had to pay me to talk?” Then, spotting the patience in her companion’s eyes, Stephanie inhaled, taking a moment to reset. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That penny’s for you, Rick,” she confessed, wetting her lips with her tongue. “I was thinking about you.” She reached out to his hand. “That I’m so glad that we found each other, and that you’re here. I’m looking forward to what it will be like to get to know you after you get back.” </span>
</p><p><span>Waiting a beat, she couldn’t help adding, “And that I can’t </span><em><span>believe</span></em><span> that, between tracking bad guys and saving kidnapped children,</span> <span>you arranged to have a tailored suit sent to you so that we could go out to a club tonight.” Looking around, she saw that everyone was dressed nicely, but none were as GQ-ready as Ranger. </span></p><p>
  <span>Ranger’s expression could only be described as smug. “Just an excuse to get you to bring out that blue dress so I could see it for myself.” His deep brown gaze traveled down her figure, and back up to her face. “Well worth it, I might add.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The blush that had been a heated glow dancing along her cheeks would now possibly be able to keep her warm for at least an hour. Even if, perhaps, she and Ranger found themselves suddenly mushing through the arctic. But, what a trip it would be, Stephanie thought as her eyes traced the way his shirt fit his arms and chest, imagining the bunching and flex of muscles as he reined-in a team of sled dogs racing across the snow. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amusement sparked in Ranger’s eyes, retrieving Stephanie from her brief winter adventure into the warm tropical theme of the club. Smiling self-consciously, she traced her mind back to his recent, heated compliment on her dress. “Thanks,” she half laughed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, unruly as ever, her mind considered that dressing up for tonight’s unexpected outing had indeed been worth it. Starting with Ranger’s insistence that removing Darius’ sweatshirt was the very first thing she needed to do after returning from O’Malley’s Pub earlier in the afternoon. Followed by the removing of other clothing. Followed by yet other activities that were now also energizing her blush. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Oh, it had been such a very long time…. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Removing her hand from Ranger’s, Stephanie reached for her soda water. Then, glancing sideways, she returned his compliment. “Okay, I’ll admit that it was worth digging this dress out of the back of the closet, just to see you in that suit, tonight.” As she spoke, she picked the moist mint leaves out of her empty mojito glass and, crushing them slightly, dropped them into her water. The fruity, almost eucalyptus scent ghosted briefly in the air, causing Stephanie to lift her fingers for a final moment of fragrance before the scent merged with the other food, perfume, and cologne scents of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger’s lips relaxed into a smile. “We’ll have to find more excuses, then, for me to wear suits when I get back to Boston.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Works for me,” she answered, savoring his reply and his offhand assurance that he would at least try to return back to her. She took a long sip, and then put down her glass. With a smile, she added, “You might have to take me shopping, though, since you’ve now seen approximately half of my evening dress-up wardrobe.” She draped her hand through the air, vaguely following her dress down to her shoes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He laughed outright at that. “I guess that’s fair play, since you bought me clothes my first day here.” Leaning back to glance around the room, Ranger commented, “I may get a few more packages after I leave. Can you hold them for me? They won’t be clothes, though, so there’s no point in peeking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see the humor still enlivening his features as he spoke. And she felt a welling moment of joy to be with someone who really knew her. Yeah, he knew she was insatiably curious and that she’d try to deduce what was in his packages. And because he’d mentioned that awareness, she knew he was putting his trust in her hands, yet again. It was a trust that the new Stephanie resolved to honor. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh, all right,” she pretended to grumble, crossing her arms and leaning back into her chair. “No peeking, or shaking of boxes, or weighing, or even sniffing.” She kept a straight face, watching his eyes swivel back to her, his eyebrow arrowing upward. Then she snorted. “Just kidding! I’ll put them on your dresser for when you return.” Uncrossing her arms to reach for a chip, Stephanie realized belatedly that she actually did consider the dresser in the den as Ranger’s dresser. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks Babe,” his lips twitched. “I’m not sure if I’m glad you won’t be sniffing my packages, or if I’m more concerned that it’s something you’d even consider.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry, It’s really only useful when you suspect someone is sending you food,” she admitted. “Boxes of Mrs. Fields cookies smell like, well, cookies. But with a bit of a beeswax overtone that’s because of the packaging they use. Now shortbread, that smells like butter and a bit like the way Grandma Plum’s sheets smelled after being dried outside on the line. You know, like linen and sun. And an almond scent means amaretto, which everyone knows you don’t have to wait until the actual holiday to open and eat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So many things I never knew,” Ranger tilted his head</span>
  <span>.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“When you need to know about desserts, just ask an expert,” Stephanie nodded sagely. “Of course, the best dessert package to get is the rum baba my Aunt Tootsie still sends for the holidays. The box smells like a liquor store. I’m surprised the post office even sends it. You don’t even have to get too close and, like the old ad says, you’ll know it’s Bacardi.” She rolled her eyes. “Of course, that makes sense because she uses over a half bottle of rum per cake.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Ranger’s bemused expression, she hastened to add, “No kidding. Every year, one of those cakes was enough to get my grandparents, my mom and dad, and all the aunts and uncles dancing in the family room on New Years. Which was more than a little dangerous, since they lived in one of those tiny side-by-sides in the ’Burg, even smaller than the one my parents had. It’s a miracle that they never knocked down any walls.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a sip of minty water before elaborating. “And holy cow, I can vouch for the fact that you can get a hangover from just a couple pieces. New Year’s Day a couple years ago was a doozie.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hesitating as she reached for the last chips in the bowl at the center of the table, Stephanie looked at Ranger just as her stomach decided to announce, in no uncertain terms, that all this discussion of dessert should clearly be leading to something more substantial on the table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah, it’s that time,” Ranger intoned. Angling in his chair, he turned his head toward the far corner. Following his gaze, Stephanie saw people bunched along a set of banquet tables draped in red-and-white checkered vinyl. As people moved, they revealed glimpses of tin trays in a row, perched over Bunsen burners. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh,” Stephanie exclaimed as Ranger began to rise from the table. “It’s a buffet. Let me help.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I got this,” he said, pushing gently down on her shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She inhaled, poised to explain how filling plates at buffets was a particular area of deep expertise. But then she looked up at Ranger, his backlit form haloed by a set of tinted, hanging spotlights. It was as though the room itself was telling her to really pay attention to him. Pausing, she couldn’t make out the expression in his eyes but could see the pride in his posture. It was not very different from his normal stance, but the pent up energy she could almost see told Stephanie that, somehow, this really mattered to him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Rick, I’ll wait here,” she agreed, and was rewarded by the relaxed smile that danced along his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then releasing her shoulder, he promised, “I’ll be right back.” His voice caressed the air between them as he backed away slightly, and then turned with lithe grace toward the back of the room.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She tried to be subtle while watching Ranger’s passage toward the buffet table. She really did. But ultimately, Stephanie couldn’t help herself. She could blame it on lingering effects of the mojito, if she wanted. In any case, she realized that she was smiling like a teenager at her first dance with a boy who liked her. As the music from the stage changed to a slow vocal melody, she watched him sinuously reach around the others at the table, his movements economical and yet somehow timed to the tune in the background. As though he was the music and the room around him was in reaction. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hola Stephanie</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” a low, feminine voice enthused behind her. Looking around, startled, Stephanie saw a vibrant young woman, whose square jaw and straight eyebrows were familiar. “I’ve never seen you here before,” her visitor added as she pushed back her wavy, dark hair. And then, as a knowing expression sparkled in her almost black eyes, Stephanie put it together.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mayra,” she exclaimed, recognizing her friend ’Fredo’s sister, the one who had recently translated for his abuela in his pawn shop’s back room. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you away from the shop.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayra laughed, “Yeah, </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi hermano</span>
  </em>
  <span> keeps us busy and close to home. With him it’s all about work. And </span>
  <em>
    <span>la familia</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She put her hand on Stephanie’s shoulder. “But here we are, both with our secret away-from-work identities,” she winked. And, with an expressive dart of her eyes toward the food table, she added in a low, teasing tone, “And I see that you took </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi abuelita’s</span>
  </em>
  <span> advice to add a bit of </span>
  <em>
    <span>sabor latino</span>
  </em>
  <span> to your life. Good choice,” she winked knowingly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sit down,” Stephanie gestured at the extra chair next to her, “I’ll introduce you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe later,” Mayra replied. “I just came over to say hello, but I don’t want to leave my date alone too long.” She looked to her right, gesturing with her chin to a slim blond man who was sitting at a table on the other side of the room, watching Mayra with a shy smile. “I’ll bring Eddie over later. I think he’s an only child, so he’s still recovering from having half my family in the room to inspect him when he came to pick me up for tonight.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie snorted, visualizing the scene. She knew from her own experience that Mayra and ’Fredo’s family was both numerous and visually imposing. Even dressed in a chiffon blouse and a pleated skirt, Mayra was clearly a self-assured and strong woman. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Mayra shook her head. “I should’ve warned him better; it’s the first time Eddie met them all. And you know </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi hermano</span>
  </em>
  <span> ’Fredo. It’s like God used him as the model for the over-protective older brother. And when he and my uncles and cousins get together, </span>
  <em>
    <span>ay de mí</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” She exclaimed with fervor. “Oh my!” She rephrased, with a dramatic toss of her head, “you can’t even imagine the amount of glowering and flexing. It’s a wonder any of my sisters ever got married.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie burst out laughing, well able to imagine the scene. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You laugh, Stephanie, but at least you have a </span>
  <em>
    <span>novio</span>
  </em>
  <span> who could match my brother stare-for-stare.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh Mayra,” Stephanie said, attempting to quell her giggles as she pictured both men proudly facing off, arms crossed to best show off their bulging biceps, with eyes glowering in faces chiseled from living stone. Breathing deeply like dragons; refusing to be the first to flinch. “I swear they’d both love every second of it.” As Mayra snorted in amusement, Stephanie got herself under control. “But Marya, I’ve seen your family. You, your aunts, and your abuela, you’re all just as fierce as ’Fredo. But he loves you; he can’t help wanting to be protective.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, he’s just a man, what can he do?” she shrugged. “But Stephanie, I think </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi hermano</span>
  </em>
  <span> ’Fredo isn’t the only one who’s protective.” Mayra’s eyes shone with amusement as she nodded toward the back table. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Following her gaze, Stephanie intercepted Ranger’s glance, his brow furrowed slightly in an expression that Stephanie remembered all too well. It was the “she seems to be okay, but stay alert in case she’s about to be abducted by maniacs” look. Stephanie laughed quietly and finger-waved as she turned back to Mayra. “Yeah, it’s second nature. We’ve known each other a long time, and I used to be a bit of a disaster magnet. He can’t help watch out for me.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she listened to Mayra’s breathy amusement, Stephanie felt a sudden ping near her heart, like a spring letting loose. And she felt light. Not light-headed, not in a mojito-induced euphoria. Just… airy. As though a shell of tension had simply evaporated down her shoulders, unlocking her breastbone, and easing her breath. Her exhale felt like champagne tickling her lungs from within.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then she realized: she was braced for a reflexive resentment, a sense that yet another man was hovering because he doubted her. And... that feeling hadn’t come. She looked again at Ranger, who’d put down his loaded plates to help an older lady with her own plate, and saw it clearly. He was a man who instinctively dropped everything to help others. Including Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know,” Mayra interrupted her thoughts, “I see why </span>
  <em>
    <span>mi abuelita</span>
  </em>
  <span> referred to your man as a warrior. It’s not just that he’s obviously strong,” she said, an appraising look in her dark eyes. “It’s in his posture, too. He’s someone who knows his worth, I think, but not showing off. More than ’Fredo, your </span>
  <em>
    <span>novio</span>
  </em>
  <span> reminds me of my Uncle Yariel, who retired last year from the Marines.” She flashed a grin at Stephanie. “But your man is much more handsome than my old </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tío</span>
  </em>
  <span> Yari.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed, deciding that it was okay that her face had flushed at hearing Mayra call Ranger “her man.” That it was more than okay. And, she silently excused Mayra for disloyalty to her uncle’s good looks; after all, Ranger was certainly the most handsome man that Stephanie had ever met. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, and your man?” Mayra nudged her. “He’s coming back over. Bringing home the bacon, or I guess the plates laden with </span>
  <em>
    <span>croquetas de jamón</span>
  </em>
  <span> in this case,” Mayra’s voice teased. Then, all business, she straightened. “Before I forget, though, I wanted to let you know that our sister Daniela filed all the paperwork for that girl you mentioned when you visited earlier this week. I’m supposed to call you at work on Monday and tell you that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mayra leaned forward with a stage whisper, “Maybe I’ll still call, but instead we can gossip about our weekends and our men.” Straightening, Mayra pushed her dark wavy hair back over her shoulder while grinning at Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hello ladies,” Ranger’s low voice layered into their conversation like a bass note under the music of the room. “May I join this party?” He slid a plate in front of Stephanie, arching his brow knowingly. She noted that he had shifted the remaining plates to balance along his left hand and arm like a waiter. Well, a waiter who was freeing his weapons hand, just in case. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ranger,” Stephanie leaned unconsciously toward him, resisting the urge to peek at what smelled so </span>
  <em>
    <span>marvelous</span>
  </em>
  <span> on the plate he’d just delivered. “This is Mayra, my friend ’Fredo’s sister.” Smiling at Mayra’s unveiled appraisal of Ranger, she added, “Mayra, this is Ranger.”    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Pleased to meet you,” Ranger inclined his head in an almost courtly gesture, and then extended his free hand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Likewise,” Mayra smiled as she grasped his hand in return. After a brief handshake, she glanced at Stephanie before extending her attention to both of them. “I’m headed back to my date, who’s sitting so patiently without me. But I just had to come over and say </span>
  <em>
    <span>hola</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” She put her hands on Stephanie’s shoulders briefly “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Hasta luego, mamí</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And you </span>
  <em>
    <span>know</span>
  </em>
  <span> we’ll be in touch,” Mayra promised as she turned, and then waved over her shoulder as she headed back to her table with a little dance step. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a smile playing along the edges of his lips, Ranger finished distributing his plates to the table with the precision of a blackjack dealer, and then lowered himself lightly into his chair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay Rick,” Stephanie said as she leaned over her plate. “What have you brought me from the mysterious buffet table of plenty? I recognize the </span>
  <em>
    <span>empañadas</span>
  </em>
  <span> and </span>
  <em>
    <span>ropa vieja</span>
  </em>
  <span>...” she glanced at Ranger for confirmation. “And I think I’ve had some of the other things, but don’t know what they are.” She inhaled, eyes half closing. “But it all smells yummy.” Then, noticing the bounty on the table, she added, “And wow, you kinda loaded those plates high.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I did bring back more than I planned,” Ranger shrugged. “But I didn’t expect them to have as many different dishes.” He paused, scanning the table. “Probably I should’ve had you there as my buffet coach, after all.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie was charmed by the bemused expression that flitted briefly across his features. Pausing a moment as she wondered how many people got to see this side of him, she grinned and tapped his arm. “If I’d been there,” she confided, “we’d have just brought back twice as much.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger’s brief laugh punctuated the rising sound from the stage, as dancing had begun in earnest. Stephanie spotted Mayra headed to the dance floor with her date. The changing colors of the lights rimming the ceiling swept along the flounces of Mayra’s blouse and painted her skirt as she spun in place, reaching for her date’s hand as they swept into the movement of the other dancers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Noticing a shift in Ranger’s posture at her side, she returned her attention to him and spotted a slight crease between his brows. Then noticed that he’d pulled out his cellphone. Probably something regarding the men he was chasing; after all, he’d made several calls today and reconned maps of the location where it looked like they were headed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reflexively, she pulled her napkin from her lap and put it on the table, and started feeling around for her purse. But then, compressing his lips, Ranger tapped his phone and put it back in his pocket. His brow lifted, and then his face softened as he reached over, handing her napkin back to her. “It can wait,” he murmured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a nod, as though to affirm that thought, he leaned toward her. “I think you’ll like the fried yam fritters with the tamarindo sauce,” Ranger pointed to a plate in the middle of the table. “And the round ones are chicken </span>
  <em>
    <span>croquetas</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I tried one,” he admitted. “They’re pretty close to the way my abuela made them for the holidays.” He pointed to a bowl of what looked like pulled pork next to her plate. “That’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>lechon asado</span>
  </em>
  <span> with a corn salsa. I put it on the side because the seasoning is a bit different and you might not like it.” A brief spark lit his eyes as he added, “and if you don’t, it’s more for me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are not poaching my food mister,” Stephanie warned with a mock growl, enjoying his playfulness while holding up her plastic fork like the dangerous weapon it could be in the hands of a Plum-Mazur woman whose meal was being threatened. As Ranger raised his hands up in a mock surrender, she giggled. “Yeah, good to see you remember how ruthlessly I defend my food.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Babe, I never forgot,” he answered with a smirk as he reached for one of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>croquetas</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The ones in the middle of the table, Stephanie primly noted. Without pausing, Stephanie used her fork to good advantage, digging into the </span>
  <em>
    <span>lechon asado </span>
  </em>
  <span>on her plate as though planting her flag in disputed territory.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh! This is good,” Stephanie moaned, having taken a hearty bite. “How did you find this place?” she asked while lining up her fork for a taste of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>ropa vieja </span>
  </em>
  <span>on the laden plate Ranger had put in front of her.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was motivated,” he answered dryly, eyebrow arched provocatively a he lifted his own brimming fork.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mmm, this is good too,” Stephanie sighed before continuing with her main thought. “Seriously though, I live in Boston, but you’ve only been here a couple weeks and you managed to find a Greek-American social club I've never heard of, where they have Cuban food and Saturday Latin dance night. How does that even happen?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His shoulder moved in a slight shrug. “I asked at that restaurant in your neighborhood, </span>
  <em>
    <span>Oriental de Cuba</span>
  </em>
  <span>.” He leaned back, looked around the room, and then back at her. “I realized that this was a part of me. This,” he gestured vaguely with his free hand, “is a bit like a family night out in the neighborhood where I grew up. It’s a part of my life that I never showed you, back in Trenton.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The challenge in his eyes was only partly assuaged by the humor bracketing his lips as he spoke. “It isn’t a flashy nightclub or </span>
  <em>
    <span>discoteca</span>
  </em>
  <span>, which is where I might’ve taken you years ago if I’d had my act together.” He shrugged again, his gaze drifting downward. “I don’t know quite why I never did that, either. It’s one of the many questions I have when I look back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The past is the past,” Stephanie resolved again as she reached for his hand. Leaning forward to be heard over the increasing volume of music, she elaborated, “Look, it took me a long time to figure this out, but I know that I went beyond your personal boundaries a lot, back then.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled wryly in reply to Ranger’s assessing look. “Oh yeah, big surprise. Take one serving of Stephanie, lightly stir in a mystery and voilà: you have a curly haired woman finding your secret apartment, moving in her hamster and snacks, and riffling through your stuff.” She saw the dash of humor signaled by Ranger’s brow, and laughed briefly. “So anyhow, I get why you might have kept some things at arm’s length.”   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger started to reply, Stephanie held up her hand. “No, it's really okay. Because, you know what? Now is now. And it’s wonderful to be here with you.” She smiled. “And let’s face it: homemade food, cash bar, and dancing in a rented hall with somebody else’s revolutionary heroes glaring from frames on the wall? That’s like old-home week for me, too.” Seeing a residual heaviness in his expression, she added, “Well, except they’re missing both major flavors of music: no Frankie Valli </span>
  <em>
    <span>and</span>
  </em>
  <span> no polka music.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A quiet laugh escaped Ranger’s lips. “Knew I’d missed a detail, Babe,” he squeezed her hand briefly, and released it. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You’ve totally made it up to me by bringing me here tonight.” She aimed her fork toward her plate. “And sharing this with me.” Without waiting for his reply, she resumed eating. And tried to avoid moaning too gratuitously.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m glad I was able to stay this extra evening,” Ranger leaned toward her, reaching out to smooth an errant lock of her hair back.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Me too,” she agreed. Inhaling, she added, “I’m just hoping that you didn’t put what you need to do on hold, tonight, because of me.” She nibbled briefly on her lip, not exactly wanting to hear the answer, yet knowing that becoming an impediment to Ranger pursuing his mission would never be the right way to induce him to return, or to stay over the long haul. Yet she wanted him with her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing sideways at Ranger while she pondered that dilemma, she resumed eating. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unaware of her silent musings— or perhaps exquisitely aware as he so often seemed to be—his expression turned thoughtful. “You probably overheard me talking to your friend Gerry on the phone. I did consider heading down to case the area tonight. But after double-checking his intel, it’s clear that my targets are going to be relatively easy to find for a couple of days while they wait for something to be delivered. And, the location that Dwyer gave us, at the pub this afternoon, is the type of neighborhood where it’ll be easier to surveil during the day.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He resumed eating, talking between the pauses. “From everything I heard and read, it’s a bit like the townie sections of Point Pleasant.” Probably sensing the question in her mind, he elaborated. “It’s one of those places where people know each other. It might be normal to see random people during the day, especially in nice weather.” Wryly, he added, “But someone who looks like me, lurking at night when it’s cold without knowing the lay of the land... well, I’d stand out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused for another bite. “Of course, if I had the pair of night scopes from that truck that went missing in Allston, I might’ve been tempted.” The corners of his lips tilted. “Good thing I’m used to prioritizing temptations.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie squinted as she watched Ranger finish his dinner. His fork moved steadily, as though he had mapped out his meal and was now working through his plan. The glimmer in his eyes, though, told a different story of victorious satisfaction</span>
  <span>.</span>
  <span> Which firmed her suspicion that this man who’d managed to get a suit overnighted to him—let alone buy a replacement cache of weapons over the past week, a truck, and a box of condoms of all things—probably also had a pair of night scopes in his truck outside, at this very minute. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously Steph,” he spoke up after mopping up the final bits of </span>
  <em>
    <span>ropa vieja</span>
  </em>
  <span> off his plate, leaving it almost clean enough to re-use. “I could have gone down there tonight if I had to, but tomorrow is just as good from the standpoint of catching Fennelly and Figueroa.” He gazed directly into her eyes. “It’s a trade-off I might not have made the same way when we were younger.” He pushed his plate away. “But as you said earlier, now is now,” he paused, “and it feels right to be here with you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you’re sure….” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Never been more sure,” he answered, his voice a molasses drizzle over the music from the stage. Then he straightened and held out his hand. With a burgeoning smile, all 100 watts, he prompted, “Ms. Plum, may I have this dance?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Her heartbeat skipped and her breath had gone somewhere, leaving her unable to speak, so Stephanie simply clasped his hand and followed him as he stood. Stepping back, he released her hand and put his hand along her back as he steered them through the tables and around an unruly conga line that was forming along the edge of the dance floor.    </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, having found an open area, he took her hands in his. She felt the firmness of his grasp as he moved her into the dance. Without thinking, she mirrored the sway of his motion, the pattern of his steps. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know this dance,” he leaned toward her ear.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kind of,” she replied. “I learned </span>
  <em>
    <span>salsa</span>
  </em>
  <span> from ‘Fredo’s younger brother Norberto a few years ago,” Stephanie answered breathlessly as she concentrated on coordinating her hips and shoulders the way Norberto had taught her at their abuelita’s 75th birthday party. “It’s like swing dance, but forward and backward,” she said. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Quick quick slow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, she mouthed to herself, </span>
  <em>
    <span>quick quick slow</span>
  </em>
  <span>.“</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly,” Ranger agreed as he pulled her left hand to his shoulder, and then rested his right hand on her hip. She felt him telegraph the moves through his hands, and through the frame he maintained as he moved his hips to the music. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt one with Ranger, held by him even when he released her into turns on the floor. His direction was light, but unmistakable. As they danced to the current song, and into the next one, Stephanie finally understood what her high school dance teacher had meant about how the male role for dancing was to provide the frame and structure for his partner, as she expressed the dance. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she was briefly lost in her revelation, the music changed. Ranger slowed to a simple swaying step as he leaned down, his voice tickling through her hair. “This is a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bachata</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Babe. Do you know this?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, sorry Rick,” Stephanie said, pulling back on the assumption that they’d sit this one out. But then Ranger pulled her back toward him. “This song is slower, let’s try it,” He guided her toward the edge of the floor, away from the experienced dancers. “Here, it’s three steps, then a tap,” He demonstrated the movement, “Side, together, side, tap. Just like that,” he explained, and then pulled her into the support of his arms. “We’ll go slow; just mirror me,” he explained. </span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Side, together, side, tap, </span>
  </em>
  <span>she mouthed as she moved. Smiling, Ranger drew her hand to his waist and held her closer, helping her shape the moves with his own. And suddenly, she felt it. She was dancing and it was effortless. It was exhilarating. Stephanie laughed at the pleasure. She looked up at Ranger and saw satisfaction beaming from his dark eyes.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was following him, yet it was as though he was simply where she needed him to be. He moved, gently releasing her hand into a free spin, which somehow she knew exactly how to do, and then returned to him. His hands pulled her back to him as though she’d never left. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We should’ve done this a long time ago,” his voice thrummed in a bass purr from his chest into her ear. Back in his arms, she felt the strength and grace of his warrior’s body infused with the gentleness of her lover from last night. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching her lips to his ear, she paused to nuzzle briefly in the slightly unruly hair along his neck. Then she smiled. “We just had to wait until both of us were ready.” Nesting her head alongside his, she felt his answering smile along her cheek. And then, sensing intent from the change in his balance and his firm hands, she prepared for another turn in the dance, with faith that Ranger would guide her back to him. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p><hr/><p>
  <em>
    <span>Author’s Note: </span>
  </em>
  <span>The dance club is based on a few actual dance venues in the Boston area. The menu selection comes from another (!) yummy restaurant in Jamaica Plain, called </span>
  <em>
    <span>The Old Havana</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I totally loved researching for this story. </span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0035"><h2>35. Taking It Down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 35: Taking It Down</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled, his breath trailing a brief puff of fog in the chill air. The same cracks in the wall that kept the room chilly admitted shafts of crisp sunlight, lifting ice-tinged motes of dust. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He reviewed his day’s work thus far. Most notably, he mulled over what he’d found out by capturing Brendan Fennelly, the skip that Stephanie’s department wanted to find. It had helped him verify some guesses, fill in some blanks, and even provided him with some actionable information. And, based on what he’d heard thus far, his ultimate target was well in sight. It was a solid day’s work, and barely noon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But yet, he had to admit that he might have also caught his main quarry, Mateus Figueroa, last night if he’d hustled down here in the dark of evening, as had been his first impulse. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And damn, it would have felt good. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In years past, that’s exactly what he would have done. The hunt first, followed by a warm celebration with a woman. But he wasn't that cocksure young </span>
  <em>
    <span>macho</span>
  </em>
  <span> anymore. He’d </span>
  <em>
    <span>chosen</span>
  </em>
  <span> to spend last night with Stephanie in Boston, intentionally deferring his trip down here until this morning. He found himself surprisingly pleased that he still didn’t regret it. He’d really meant it when he’d told her that he wanted to try being in her life. And that meant learning how to put her, and her family, before his job.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And prove that to her. And to himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, it didn’t hurt that while Ranger knew that he </span>
  <em>
    <span>might</span>
  </em>
  <span> have caught Figueroa last night, it was equally likely that he might not have. It wasn’t a sure thing, not at all. Not the way he was working solo on this job. By necessity, due to the danger, but frankly also because he’d burned a few bridges along the way. Or, at least, he’d let a few bridges tumble into disrepair. And this job had certainly shown him the downside to that, he reflected ruefully.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Having cased Brendan Fennelly’s rundown house in Cohasset this morning, he’d seen the layout of the insular neighborhood with its lack of streetlights, its sand and gravel streets, and its long-settled buildings and overgrown lots. He’d also found the traps Fennelly had laid around his property, the mix of firearms Fennelly had in his house, and the assault equipment and guns in his garage.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So yes, coming here without backup last night to arrest these two men—one an explosives expert, the other an accomplished thug who obviously had paramilitary training—would’ve been challenging. In a night lit only by stars. In the half-wilderness neighborhood that they knew and he didn’t.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>To be honest, it might have been a complete fuck-up in the dark. But today, Ranger had been ready. After verifying with his scopes that there was only one target on the property, and that the neighbors didn’t seem to be hiding more than the usual amount of hunting gear behind their drapes and shutters, he’d started working. He’d set about tapping into and then dismantling Fennelly’s surveillance. He’d walked the property, untangling tripwires and freeing spring traps. All while patiently herding Fennelly into the alternative ambush he’d methodically laid while working. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, despite Fennelly’s apparent ability to amass weapons and secure his base, he’d proved to be relatively amateur at the game of stalking and flushing the enemy. After getting him near the garage, Ranger had quickly subdued and locked up the younger man without significant struggle. With Fennelly secured, Ranger had taken a brief pause to search his house for information, and then return to question his captive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d basically found out what he needed. Beyond that, he hadn’t hurt Fennelly... much. And didn’t plan to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But Fennelly didn’t know that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now, having just returned inside after calling Morelli’s contact from Homeland Security, Ralph Honda, Ranger knew that someone would be coming soon to take Fennelly into custody. Even though Ranger had the skip paperwork for Fennelly, the sheer volume of munitions and weapons—not to mention what he’d learned over the past several days regarding the probable origins of the plot he was seeing unfold—argued for putting Fennelly into senior custody as soon as possible. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In any case, Ranger’s opportunity to find out any additional detail was rapidly diminishing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Bringing himself back to the present moment, Ranger looked at the stocky, brown-haired man in front of him. Cuffed to a metal ladder that was, in turn, secured to the wall, Fennelly was unremarkable. As were his most recent words: “I swear I told you everything I know.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exhaling slowly, once again, Ranger considered whether he was willing to take that cliché claim at face value. On one hand, it was possibly true. After all, Fennelly had disclosed a lot already. Notably, he’d confessed to acquiring illegal arms and explosives, harboring a fugitive, and being a conduit for money and messages in the larger operation that was becoming very clear to Ranger.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other hand, the crimes he'd acknowledged were ones Ranger had mostly figured out himself before this charming little heart-to-heart in the man’s drafty, unheated garage. Well, </span>
  <em>
    <span>garage</span>
  </em>
  <span> was a charitable term; made of rock and horsehair-reinforced concrete, the rustic structure was probably old enough to have housed a Model-T at some point. And possibly a carriage and harness before that.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>More importantly, it was separated from other occupied dwellings by at least two overgrown lots in each direction. Further, the gravel and tire-indented path that led back to Fennelly’s currently empty house wound far enough away from the rocky beachfront to be almost invisible. Presumably Fennelly had chosen it as the location for his little arsenal for that reason. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger agreed that its isolation had many benefits. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Schooling his features into cold indifference, Ranger kept his eyes trained on Fennelly. “Is that true?” Ranger asked mildly. “You told me everything you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the man’s effusive assurances, Ranger reached down a gloved hand and idly fingered the tools on the folding table next to him. By touch, he recognized the nail gun he’d spotted earlier. Careless of Fennelly to leave dangerous tools lying about his space. With that thought, Ranger tilted his head as though he was considering his next course of action. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And there it was: a spark of resistance—of defiance—hiding behind the apprehension in Fennelly’s features. The man knew something else that he hadn’t yet revealed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As his knuckle bumped one of the nail gun’s cartridges, Ranger shook himself, realizing he had been unconsciously reviewing the numerous painful ways he could employ the tool to elicit the information he needed. He’d long ago realized that all the training and experience that had made him an outstanding special operations asset also had fundamentally changed how he processed the world around him. But still, it was a slippery slope from awareness to action that he’d seen a few too many slip down.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Fennelly hunch away from him, Ranger suspected that he’d likely been telegraphing his mental inventory of coercive techniques. Or, perhaps the man had simply clued into the disquiet that was roiling Ranger’s mind and stiffening his already taught posture. Well really, that fear was sufficient for today’s purpose; typically the threat of what Ranger could do was one of his best weapons. At least, outside of a firefight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Deciding that he’d left enough time for Fennelly to worry about what Ranger would do next, he turned to face the man. And, at that moment, he felt a smooth weight shift against his skin, under his sweater. Puzzled briefly, he realized it was Sarah’s medal. Saint Martin, the Army saint, reminding Ranger to be brave and good. To be the man he wanted to be, not the mercenary it was sometimes easy to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhaled in something like humor; his Babe truly came from a scary family. He pictured Stephanie’s wry smile at that thought. And he flashed to this morning, when she’d told him that Sarah wanted him to keep the medal until he completed his mission and came back. Until he came </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To them. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While explaining her daughter Sarah’s request, Stephanie had taken the chain in her slim fingers. Standing in front of him, she’d quietly lifted the chain to place it around Ranger’s neck as though it were a commendation. Lowering his head to accommodate her, Ranger had been taken by a long forgotten memory of his Abuelita Santos. Before church, or any important holiday, his grandmother had always stopped her much taller husband and solemnly, on tiptoes, placed his battered pendant of Cuba’s patron saint, </span>
  <em>
    <span>la Virgen de la Caridad del Cobre</span>
  </em>
  <span>, around his neck. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>For a brief moment, in Stephanie’s room, he’d almost been able to smell the cinnamon and </span>
  <em>
    <span>adobo</span>
  </em>
  <span> seasonings that permeated that old house in Newark, his abuelita’s old-world citrus and floral perfume, and his abuelo’s aftershave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The sound of Fennelly’s handcuffs rattling against the ladder brought Ranger back to the present. He glanced at his watch; he really needed to wrap this up before Honda arrived. Because at that point, when he turned Fennelly over to legal custody, Ranger would lose the ability to do his own questioning. So, whether he liked it or not, he needed to </span>
  <em>
    <span>seem</span>
  </em>
  <span> to be the cold mercenary for a while longer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He turned his gaze to Fennelly, rolling his shoulders and projecting the menace that he’d used on countless similar occasions. As an afterthought, he reached beyond the nail gun and picked up an old-fashioned tire iron from the table of random tools. Some things were classics for a reason.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Let’s test the theory that you've told me everything you know, shall we?” Ranger’s low voice broke the silence. “Let’s assume you told the truth that Figueroa left here to drive down to meet your handler at a self-storage facility in Delaware. Since you say you don't know his real name, describe him.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Who, that meathead Figueroa?” Fennelly asked as his eyes tracked the metal rod that Ranger was slapping loosely into his free hand. Ranger could hear Fennelly’s quick rabbit breaths. Ranger smiled inwardly, knowing that the sound of the weighted steel hitting the padded leather of his work glove, as though hitting flesh, provided a usefully intimidating sound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, your handler. The man you call the Wolf.” Pursing his lips, Ranger added, “And don't waste my time.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I told you: I've never seen the Wolf. Not face to face,” he cajoled as he slumped against the metal ladder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Why do you call him the Wolf?” Ranger asked. He was pretty sure he knew the answer, which was that his handler was none other than John Whelan, who used that as his handle. So many clues that both he and Stephanie had unearthed over the past several days pointed to that slippery bastard. Who was extremely dangerous and well connected, and next on Ranger’s radar, right along with his original target Mateus Figueroa. Ranger might have rescued Figueroa’s abducted sons, but the man was still a fugitive. And mixed up in a snakepit of trouble.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t know,” Fennelly answered, unaware of Ranger’s thoughts. “Someone called him that, once, and it just seemed right. I sure don’t call him that to his face, though. Not that I ever see his face,” the man half spit.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Interesting,” Ranger narrowed his eyes. “Earlier you said that you drive to meet your handler every couple of weeks. But now you’re saying that you never see the man.” Ranger paused as though contemplating Fennelly’s statement. Then, taking a sideways step as though circling his prey, Ranger challenged, “Why do I find that unlikely? As though you're stalling.” He thwacked the tire iron into his gloved palm again, for good measure. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m not stalling, I swear,” Fennelly kept tracking Ranger with his eyes. “All I know is that he’s a scary son of a bitch. And, I think he’s probably a White guy ‘cause of the way he insults the other guys he has me work with, like Figueroa, or that dead psycho named Krc. Who had no vowels in his name or common sense in his goddamn skull, thank you very much. What a turd he was. Good riddance. I think Figueroa probably capped him, like I said before, but I don’t know that for sure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded briefly; he’d already deduced that Figueroa was who had left Krc’s bloodied body in a Boston boarding house earlier this week, with Ranger’s wallet and driver’s license conveniently in the room. Thinking of the missing Figueroa, though, teased another question to his mind. “Why did Figueroa leave today if he’s not scheduled to meet with the Wolf until tomorrow morning?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hell if I know. The guy’s a total jackass and about as reliable as a Dodge Dart with an electrical short. Maybe he doesn’t like the South Shore in winter. Maybe he wanted to spend all day at a strip club. Maybe he had to meet more of his knuckle-dragging gang.” Fennelly’s lip curled in disdain as he coughed. “It’s not like we’re buddies and he left me his social schedule.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Listening to Fennelly’s general dislike for the other people with whom he’d clearly been working, Ranger asked, “How did you get mixed up with those guys?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, that’s the big question, ain’t it? And honestly?” Fennelly looked up, directly into Ranger’s eyes. “I haven’t a friggin’ clue. The best I can figure, based on timing, is that someone spotted my alias when I tried to get bonded to work on a demolition crew. Which would’ve paid me an actual salary, by the way. But instead of that job, I get this shadowy call about a week later offering me a bunch of money to buy supplies.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fennelly shook his head. “And it’s possible that I have a reputation—undeserved, according to the dropped charges over two years ago now—for being able to get off-the-books street heat, ammo, and other kinds of gear. But that’s the first time I took work from someone I didn’t know already.” He made a face. “And the last time, too. It just went on from there. Suddenly I started getting hooked up with these random guys who barely speak English, shuttling money, buying shit. Burning my own connections.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He blew a gust upward that ruffled the hair that had drooped over his eyes, and then shook his head again. “Good money, I won’t lie, but it just kept going. Turns out that I’m convenient, you know?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Convenient?”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, don't you get it?" Fennelly looked again at Ranger in disgust, his sweat beading. "I may have come originally from Ireland but I've been here for years, I look like Joe Average, and I don't have much of an accent. I have connections already in place and I've got family in the area. Beyond that, after getting paid for this shit and with my green card in limbo, I'm not likely to raise my hand and call a red-card foul on anyone."</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He sniffed. “Beyond that, I don’t know the other players. Other than that they’re all a bunch of maybe-legal foreigners with nobody that’s gonna to care if something bad happens to them. At least nobody who anyone will listen to. And if something goes wrong, everyone will look at them and believe they were up to no good. Like you do. Am I right?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, partly in agreement, partly at having Fennelly confirm something else he’d suspected. “Yeah,” Ranger answered, “I do believe they were up to no good, but it’s based on their actions.” He pursed his lips. “I still don’t understand how you’ve worked for this guy you call the Wolf for what, over a year, and yet you don’t know him.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well that’s easy. Each time we meet at a different place, which he texts me right before. And he’s always behind a door, or upstairs, or on a speaker. Oh, and he uses one of those scrambler things so I don’t recognize his voice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not surprising, Ranger thought. He’d do the same thing if he were running this operation; he wouldn’t want a weak link like Fennelly be able to identify him, either. Nevertheless, the unkempt man in front of him, cuffed to the ladder and sweating defiantly in the chill of his unheated garage, still had enough bravado to indicate that he might be holding something back. Or, perhaps he was simply more afraid of his handler than he was of Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Time to work that angle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger tilted his head. “So, if you’ve told me everything you know, and you can’t describe the Wolf,” Ranger paused, dropping his voice a chilly octave. “It looks like I don’t have any further use for you.” He looked down at the tire iron in his hand, then back to Fennelly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jerking uselessly against his cuffs, Fennelly’s eyes darted around. Swallowing, he lifted his head in a show of resistance. “I know some important people,” he said. “They’ll be looking for me if anything happens. And…” Fennelly sputtered, “and there are surveillance cameras around the property here, so they’ll be able to find you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At that, Ranger couldn’t help but laugh. He knew it wasn’t a nice laugh, not at all. “Really?” He felt his lips pull into a smirk. Then, taking a step forward, his expression darkened as he added, “You mean that last-generation system you have looped around your property? You know: the one with an external wire that can be jimmied to run static across the recordings for hours.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger enjoyed watching Fennelly’s eyes widen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn’t matter,” Fennelly tilted his head in a show of resistance. “They’ll come looking for you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“If you mean the Wolf waiting for Figueroa down in Delaware, it turns out that I’m about to surprise him in his own backyard,” Ranger exhaled in dark humor. “So I wouldn’t get my hopes up, if I were you.” Then, he recalled his conversation yesterday with Fennelly’s uncle, the old reputed IRA operative Aidan Dwyer. Ranger shrugged. “Or if you mean some of the fellows up at O’Malley’s pub, I got the strong impression that none of the old guard there is particularly interested in coming to your rescue.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He enjoyed seeing the look of fear that briefly flickered across Fennelly’s face. Ranger might not want to be that cold mercenary of his darkest imaginings, but he also couldn’t claim to be a particularly nice man in all situations. Nobody who spent as much time as he did, trying to reason through how to do the most morally right thing, could claim to be inherently virtuous. At least, that was the conclusion Ranger had reached in years wrestling with his demons.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So,” Ranger padded forward, now within touching distance of Fennelly. Flexing to fill even more space, his voice rumbled in an almost intimate way, “Are you really sure you’ve told me everything?” He kept his gaze cold as he paused, giving the man in front of him even more time to sweat. A moment passed, so as added incentive Ranger casually switched the tire iron to his left hand. With his right, he reached under his coat to pull out his short hunting knife from its holster. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ah, there it was: the ammonia scent of a now thoroughly nervous bladder. Ranger gave Fennelly credit for having held out this long. He might be an expendable piece on the playing field, but he had fortitude. Or a protective layer of stupidity. Ranger mentally shrugged; the two weren’t mutually exclusive. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Have you remembered, yet, that thing that you still haven’t told me?” Ranger asked mildly as he flicked his gaze briefly to his knife, and then back to Fennelly’s eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay,” Fennelly breathed as though he’d just climbed several flights of stairs. “Here’s the thing. The place where they’re meeting in Wilmington, in Delaware... it’s not just a self-storage place. There’s a bunch of warehouses behind it, and rows of rusty shipping containers like the ones they use on container ships. I’ve been there.” Fennelly sniffed, and then shook his head briefly as a beaded row of sweat rolled slowly down his nose. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Tell me what I need to know,” Ranger replied. “What’s the layout?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can look it up online and get the satellite view from the address I gave you earlier. That’s going to be better than any description I give you,” Fennelly hastened to explain. “I swear. I didn’t think to look it up until afterward, but the online view matched what I saw.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He took a ragged breath. “We met in the second warehouse from the left. You can’t see it, though, until after you’ve passed through all the self-storage buildings. The problem is, you’re totally visible for like a quarter mile if you come in through the main entrance. And I’m pretty sure that when I went there, at least a couple of spotters were in the self-storage area with guns.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fennelly swallowed. “They looked like you: big muscular guys wandering around, lumps in their pockets, who just didn’t belong in a place where mom and dad store their old record albums. Maybe you can see how to get in from the back if you look online. I didn’t do that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger fought the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he would do his recon first. The same way he’d checked out this neighborhood, set his own microphones and surveillance, and a few traps of his own before moving in. His eyes narrowed. “If you’ve already been there, and can identify the location, why would the Wolf use that warehouse again? Why not a different building?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fennelly sniffed again. “Well, that Brazilian asshole, Figueroa, hasn’t been there yet. And of the buildings I saw there, it’s more like other places where we met. It’s a couple storeys and old concrete construction. The others I saw were those newer metal buildings where you can hear what’s going on from outside. And inside there’s, like, a hidden balcony along the back.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squirming under Ranger’s glare, Fennelly added. “I remember it,’ he insisted. “That’s where the Wolf was, when I met him in that building. It was like out of some stupid movie. And, wait: I actually almost saw him there. He was just a silhouette, so I couldn’t see his face, and he was lumpy like he was wearing a coat, and maybe a hood. But I could tell it was the person who was talking because his arm movements matched some of what he said.” He paused for a couple of deep breaths. “So, it just seems like the best of the buildings to use, and Figueroa hasn’t been there before. I’m telling you what I told him before he left.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Ranger temporized as he felt a message vibrate in his coat pocket. Sheathing his knife first, he pulled out his phone. It was from Ralph Honda. He was on the road, maybe ten or fifteen minutes away, based on the text he’d just sent. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded. Though it had chafed to take a favor from Morelli, Ranger wasn’t particularly proud when it came to finding the right people to contact. Despite their many differences, Morelli had always proven himself to be an intelligent cop and basically a decent man. He could’ve put Ranger in jail on more than one occasion, but had seen through the situations well enough to let him slide. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger looked at Fennelly, who was quietly trying to see if he could get out of his cuffs while his captor was distracted. Ranger snorted; he didn’t think Fennelly had a clue how to escape the military-grade cuffs that Ranger had brought with him. Or the balls to break his own thumbs to pull free, which was really the best option the man had.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watching Fennelly strain and shift, Ranger decided that he’d gotten what he needed for his own purposes. Sure, he had the training, the ability, to take this down further, to strip everything from his captive. But he could let the Feds sweat him for more information on where he’d gotten the munitions; that wasn’t as time sensitive, or as personal to Ranger. Let them build their own case from that. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And leave Fennelly with the fear of what Ranger </span>
  <em>
    <span>could’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> done. With what he likely </span>
  <em>
    <span>would’ve</span>
  </em>
  <span> done in the not-too-distant past.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With that, Ranger put his phone away, set the tire iron down with a sour clang, and retrieved the rag he’d used earlier to silence Fennelly. Ignoring the stocky man’s whining promises that he’d personally take Ranger to the warehouse in Delaware if only he was freed, Ranger refolded the rag and forced it past the man’s teeth. Waiting for a moment to verify that Fennelly could still breathe, Ranger tilted his head. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t worry,” he said mildly, patting the other man on the shoulder as he backed up. “Seriously. Someone will be by in a moment to take you into custody, where you’ll be safe from both me and the Wolf. Maybe you’ll even have a chance to change clothes,” Ranger shrugged, “or grab a jacket. Who knows? It could be your lucky day, after all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Still ignoring Fennelly’s voice, now muffled, Ranger zipped up his coat and headed to the garage entrance. He opened the old-fashioned carriage doors enough to slip through, and then closed them firmly behind him. He walked to the treeline, where he pulled out the backpack he’d stowed under a pile of branches and leaves. Following the perimeter away from the rutted drive, crunching through snow rime that crusted the brown grass in the shadow of the trees, Ranger reached one of the inexpensive portable parabolic microphones he’d deposited around the property. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After folding it like an umbrella and placing it in his backpack, Ranger headed out on a quick circuit around the property to retrieve his other surveillance devices. In addition, he retrieved the rifle he’d hidden in a fallen log and the hunting knives he’d left in shrubs in case he had needed to fall back to the brush in a fight.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then he headed to his truck, inspecting the site as he approached, and making a few adjustments. Glancing at his watch again, he tossed his pack and his rifle in the back seat and pulled on the patterned ski hat he’d purchased this morning and described to Honda. He loosened his jacket, switched from his work gloves to a warmer pair, and then leaned back against the hood of his truck to wait. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t have long; moments later he saw a scatter of scrappy birds surge upward from the canopy of trees by the road about a quarter mile away, followed by the sound of gravel chittering from heavy tires. As a set of non-descript sedans turned the corner from behind a stand of pines, Ranger straightened, holding his hands out at his sides. Internally, he reviewed how he’d reach for his holstered guns if needed, one per hand. And how, after firing his first round of disruptive fire, he’d dive behind the old stone wall that he’d parked by, and start firing with the Glock he still had stashed there in case of ambush. </span>
</p><p><span>Externally, though, he was careful to project calm patience. After a brief pause after the cars pulled to a stop, a lean man with a salt-and-pepper crewcut unfolded himself from the passenger side of the first car. His dark, hooded eyes</span> <span>scanned quickly around the site. Ranger noted with approval, though, that his glance never quite left Ranger. And it was clear from the square shape of his jacket that he was wearing a vest. </span></p><p>
  <span>“I’m told you used to frequent a place called Pino’s,” the vaguely Asian man said in a gruff baritone.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger felt his lips tilt upward in humor, recognizing that such a specific phrase meant that Honda had probably called Morelli after Ranger contacted the man this morning. And Morelli had vouched for him enough to give an identifying phrase. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So he answered, “At least in Chief of Detectives Morelli’s memory. Though as I recall, he went there more often. Usually for their meatball sub.” He saw a vague glimmer of amusement chase across the other man’s face. “I’m Ricardo Mañoso,” he continued. “Though most people know me as Ranger. And you’re Ralph Honda, I presume?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yup,” he replied. His hand waved vaguely. “I assume this is the site you wanted me to see?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, this and the house that’s down that path,” Ranger gestured to his left. “They both belong to the man I have waiting for you inside,” he kept his eyes trained on Honda’s. “His name is Brendan Fennelly, a Boston bail jumper, with weapons and explosives experience. I have the skip paperwork for him in my coat pocket, and my bail bond ID card in my wallet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Honda’s nod, Ranger reached slowly into his coat pocket for the paperwork, then even more slowly for his wallet. While he did that, Honda waved a gesture toward his cars, and two other men emerged. One of them approached Ranger and took the paperwork and ID for inspection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Honda said, pursing his lips. “So we’ve established that you have a right to retain the man inside to comply with his bail obligations. So say again why you called me, in Homeland.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Looking at the armaments assembled, and the combination, he’s geared up to be a one-man militia. And he’s got enough road construction explosives to take down something significant. The thing is, I don’t think he’s acting alone.” Ranger shrugged. “I think the Boston PD would’ve done the right thing, but Fennelly’s on at least one federal watch list.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He paused for a moment to gauge Honda’s expression. Not seeing much beyond what was probably habitual skepticism, Ranger added, “After looking through the garage here, it looks like a situation that needs to get higher in the intel chain faster than it likely would through usual channels.” Beyond that, Ranger hoped it would keep Fennelly safe by putting him in a different law enforcement channel than the one that his highers-up might expect. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda glanced at his assistant who was holding Ranger’s paperwork. At that man’s nod, Honda gestured for him to return the items to Ranger. “Show me what you found.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, then stepped toward the garage. He pulled open the building’s wide and weathered doors, stepped inside, and quickly stood aside for the first of Honda’s men to enter. A bulky redheaded man holding a respectable Sig Sauer</span>
  <span>,</span>
  <span> he stopped for a glance at Fennelly, who had begun shouting unintelligibly into the rag in his mouth. With a look of resigned disgust, Honda’s man did a quick perimeter scan and then called an “all clear” to the other men.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger watched while they did a preliminary inspection of the assembled boxes of guns, rifles, bullets, explosive bricks, and assorted other gear. It was abundantly clear that this wasn’t a casual hunter’s storage shed. One of Honda’s other Homeland agents had approached Fennelly to verify his identity and inspect for injuries. The agent had uncuffed Fennelly from the ladder and removed the rag from his mouth. Despite that, now in Homeland’s custody, Fennelly had finally gone quiet as his nervous eyes followed the other agents in his garage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So you say there’s more at his house?” Honda turned to Ranger as his men continued their careful inspection. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There is,” Ranger affirmed, “though it’s mostly tactical and self defense gear. Here,” he handed a metal ring of keys to Honda. ”These should help. I’ve disabled his booby traps in his house and the ones I found around his property.” He paused, adding. “I did a quick scan for plans or communications, but figured I should leave the real information collection to your team.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Right,” Honda answered with a quirk to his lips that said he knew very well that Ranger had done more than a quick scan for documents in the house. It was true, as was the fact that Ranger hadn’t turned up much. Frankly, he hoped that Honda’s men could find more, and that it would provide an independent reason for someone to be following the leads Ranger had thus far tracked on his own.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda’s silent gaze, almost as inexpressive as Ranger’s, focused intently. After a moment, he waved his hand and spoke. “All right. Normally I’d instruct my team to keep you with us, on ice, until I could verify that you’re not part of this operation. After all, a sting is a sting, and if you’re giving up the perp inside, we might be doing you a favor.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lips tightened slightly with lemon astringency. “The thing is,” Honda continued, “Chief Morelli vouched for you, and said you were in the middle of a volatile operation of some sort. Which is why I’m here, in person.” Something like humor shone momentarily in the man’s dark eyes. “And, well, since I was in Rhode Island anyway, with the in-laws, and it’s a short drive up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I appreciate it,” Ranger commented dryly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda sniffed, his nose reddened from the chill air. “So, the question is: what should I do with you?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger squared his shoulders. “With your permission, I’d like to leave this scene in your hands and pursue the man who’s my real target.” Ranger tilted his head toward the garage door, where two of Honda’s agents were escorting the cuffed man to one of their sedans. “Fennelly, there, is someone I uncovered along the way. But he’s not really who I’m looking for.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know that means I have to ask you who you </span>
  <em>
    <span>are</span>
  </em>
  <span> pursuing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded, preparing to dole out only as much information as required to satisfy official curiosity. “It’s the wrap-up of a case I’m on. A parental abduction. Man named Mateus Figueroa. I found the kids; they’re in custody and headed home, but the father who abducted them is still on the loose.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Honda’s evaluating stare, he appended, “Fennelly worked with him, and knows where he’s headed next.” He paused a beat for a reaction. Seeing none, he continued. “I’ve been tracking the guy for a few months, so I’d really like to intercept him this time. Let his ex-wife stop worrying, for one. I have the proper paperwork to take him into custody, if you need to see it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t need the paperwork,” Honda replied with an abbreviated hand signal to one of his men, who’d been hovering between him and first sedan. “So, should I assume that part of the urgency you feel is related to the... shall-we-say </span>
  <em>
    <span>coincidence </span>
  </em>
  <span>that this Figueroa guy is also somehow mixed up with this situation?” Honda tipped his head toward Fennelly’s garage. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Ranger replied, his lips tilting in amusement. “But it’s still circumstantial at this point,” Ranger added. “I’m expecting you’ll be able to get more information from Fennelly. And,” he paused before volunteering, “I have your number; I’ll let you know what I find out from Figueroa.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Honda replied firmly. “Respectfully, I need more than that, and I think you know it. One of my teams has been on the trail of some of the munitions in that garage for a couple of months. I need to know why it’s there and where it’s intended to be used. Beyond that, I still have some missing inventory.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda’s eyes narrowed as Ranger blanked his own expression. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mr. Mañoso, let’s not mince words. By your bearing, you’re ex-military and, honestly, I think you’re more than just a bounty hunter. If you have intel on any of the munitions we found here, I need it. Either now, or you accompany us back down to the office in Providence. Consider that a generous choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>While Honda had been talking, Ranger was evaluating the situation. If this were Iraq or one of the other places he’d been behind enemy lines, he probably would’ve taken the time to capture Honda as a hostage, use the man’s weapon to evade Honda’s team, and escape capture with perhaps a bullet wound. But clearly that wasn’t where he was. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Instead, he was standing in front of a man, reasonably seasoned in national security, who’d been recommended to him. Someone who seemed like a straight arrow, and who seemed to be outside of any chain of command that was influenced by John Whelan, the Wolf.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Someone who might be able to help, if Ranger could give him enough information without putting him in the line of fire. In fact, if Ranger told him what he knew, it might keep Honda’s team out of the computer systems that might get him on Whelan’s radar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So Ranger nodded. “Fair enough,” he shifted into an unconscious parade rest. “A few months ago, I got bounty paperwork for Figueroa. Like I mentioned, it was a parental abduction and the guy’s trail had gone cold.” Ranger intentionally glossed over that he’d gotten it as a suspicious abandoned case from his FBI contact, Tino Clark, who’d since gone silent. Ranger strongly suspected that anyone trying to find Clark was likely to go missing, as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Anyhow,” Ranger continued, “I tracked Figueroa from Puerto Rico, all up and down the East Coast. I just missed him outside of Atlanta, trailed him up to Portland in Maine, where I thought he’d head across the border. But instead, he went south to Fall River, and then to Boston.” Ranger shrugged. “That’s where I finally retrieved his sons. It apparently made this week’s East Coast weekly cross-agency check-in call.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hmm,” Honda looked briefly into the distance, his eyes tracking one of his as he exited the garage with a clipboard. “I may have heard about that one.” He looked back at Ranger. “So, this Figueroa is good at evading capture.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Very,” Ranger admitted with a brief grimace. “But what’s interesting is that, in each place he stopped, he seemed to set people in motion. They bought weapons, stole construction equipment, and sometimes just went on the road themselves. Several of them are now deceased,” Ranger added. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, seeing Honda’s speculative look, added, “I had nothing to do with their deaths. Fennelly suspects Figueroa is the assassin of the bunch, though that’s conjecture. I personally think that some of the assassins are themselves dead at this point.” He thought specifically of Krc, a man with a distinctive scar, who’d been spotted by a couple of boys in a car driving around the supposed Dorchester gang hit for which Ranger had been framed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And who was now messily dead; his body left in a rooming house to incriminate Ranger, potentially keeping him busy and off of Figueroa’s trail. Remembering that day, Ranger was brought to recall the young Russian woman he’d freed from the apartment below; the one who was convinced he was a Pakistani. Amused, he briefly wondered whether people would believe his experiences if he wrote them as novels.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll need a list of names and locations,” Honda’s no-nonsense voice nudged Ranger’s thoughts back to business. As Honda pulled out a small notebook and removed his glove to write, Ranger walked through the names of men he’d been following. As he spoke, he provided what he felt was safe regarding what he suspected they’d done and to which agency he’d reported them. And he left out a few, like the young and frightened dishwasher, Isaiah, and his cousin Djaleo, whose involvement Ranger had determined was peripheral.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With some amount of deliberation, Ranger also omitted details that would point Honda directly at the Wolf, John Whelan. So, he didn’t tell him about the ESL school that Stephanie had discovered, which linked most of the men he’d uncovered. And he didn’t mention the black-ops account number identified by her contact at the check-cashing store in Dorchester. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he couldn’t hide the fact that he, an independent contractor and bounty hunter, seemed to be the primary person tracking something that looked like a domestic threat operation. Or that he kept having to say that he wasn’t at liberty to say who his contacts at government agencies were.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Honda said when Ranger paused. “We have a set of operatives who barely know each other, and who are largely foreign nationals with questionable green card status and shadowy police records.” He paused to puff warm air onto his fingers holding his pen. “Do I have the gist?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>At Ranger’s affirmative, he sucked his teeth, then speared Ranger with an intense gaze. “Chief Morelli told me that you do government work, under-cover. And yet, you haven’t mentioned who you’re working for, or who the various law enforcement people are that you’re working with. So you’re hiding something: either you’re on an undercover mission, or you’re trying to break one up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger remained completely still while Honda’s eyes crinkled briefly in something like humor. “Yeah, I already know you’re not going to tell me, so I’m not going to waste either of our time. Either way, I can connect the dots myself,” he concluded with brisk efficiency. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing his notebook, Honda took one more look around the scene. Two of his men were taking pictures and inspecting the periphery of the property for other evidence. The other was in the sedan with Fennelly, no-doubt taking his statement. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So Mr. Mañoso, here’s how we’re going to play this. With your help, I have a someone in custody and the grounds I need to fully impound this scene. Further, I have the names and connections you’ve given me to create a good circumstantial case.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He tapped the notebook against his other, gloved hand. “I can let you leave, but I need to know where and when you’re planning to corner that other fellow, Figueroa. I want agents on the ground there. If this is the type of operation it seems to be, I need assurance we can get the high-value targets in custody quickly. And frankly, if it’s just you and that truck over there, you could use backup.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled slowly, his lips compressed in thought. As Honda had been talking, he’d been considering whether to loop the man into his plans in Delaware. Honda was right: if Ranger was about to corner both Figueroa and Whelan, he did need backup. He could be sure there’d be other muscle on the ground. And despite his faults, Morelli had always been a good judge of character. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay,” Ranger finally made his decision. Speaking softly, out of earshot of the rest of Honda’s team, he confided, “For our mutual safety, though, you need to keep the operation dark. I’m very sure that there’s someone well placed within the national security apparatus who’s working with these guys. Possibly the person Figueroa is going to meet. We have to do this without pinging any systems that could raise an alarm. Agreed?” While he waited, he stamped his feet; even with the insulated wool socks Stephanie had insisted he wear, his toes were getting cold in his boots. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After a moment, Honda nodded once. “I don’t like it. But I agree.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good,” Ranger affirmed. Then, fully in tactical mode, he provided the location information that Fennelly had passed to him. Wrapping up, he added, “I plan to case the area tonight. Based on that, I can give you a tactical report and ground map, let’s say by midnight. The meeting is scheduled for tomorrow at 9am, so I expect action at the site to start by 6am. Probably I’ll need to meet your men by 4am to iron out the plan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looked steadily at Honda. “When I call, I can let you know where to meet me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine. But so you know, the IHOP on Concord Pike doesn’t open until 6am,” Honda replied with a slight glimmer in his eyes.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger snorted. “Good to know,” he said as he started to turn toward his truck. Then he paused. “If you can do me a favor, sometime tomorrow after the action is finished in Delaware, can you file with the Boston courts so they know that Fennelly’s back in custody? The bondsman who paid Fennelly’s bail isn’t a bad guy. I don’t want him out of the refund.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it. Done.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Ranger replied as he walked to the stone wall beyond his car, reached down, and slowly picked up his Glock with his thumb and forefinger. With a tilt of his lips, he shrugged. “Seems I left a bit of litter on the grounds.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Uh huh,” Honda replied. “Just get out of here before I change my mind.” As he spoke, he waved one of his men over. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Got it. Done,” Ranger echoed Honda as he climbed into this truck, his lips still angled in amusement. Starting the ignition and feeling the draft of air that would soon turn to heat, Ranger put his truck in reverse and pulled away from the garage. He noted with approval that Honda kept his eyes trained his direction the entire time, listening to what his subordinate said, his hand obviously at the ready in case he did need to change his mind after all.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It was good to work with professionals, Ranger thought with a smile. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0036"><h2>36. Taking it Further</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 36: Taking It Further  </b>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a few minutes of driving, while navigating the gravel and ground-seashell path back away from Fennelly’s place toward paved roads, Ranger reached into his pocket for the business card of that bail bondsman he’d mentioned to Honda. Roger Stoneman— or Stony as he liked to be called— truly wasn’t a bad guy, even if he did have a sloppy, Vinnie Plum vibe. The man did, after all, bail out Ranger under difficult circumstances. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He made a mental note to make sure that Stony wouldn’t lose any money from helping Ranger. The same as he wouldn’t lose anything because Ranger had handed over the bondsman’s FTA, Fennelly, to Honda in Homeland instead of bringing him back to Boston for rebooking. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Since nobody picked up the phone at Stoneman Bonds, Ranger left a message that he was about to cross state lines, but that he planned to return for his hearing at the end of the month. And that Stony shouldn’t worry if he couldn’t reach Ranger over the next couple of days since he’d be turning off his personal phone during the operation. Finished with that courtesy, Ranger ended the call, with a mental apology to Stephanie who’d probably be fielding a spate of annoyed questions from the man later today or tomorrow.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he drove, gravel transitioned to blacktop, and then to fully paved streets. He passed a few more neighborhoods of 1930s clapboard cottages, a set of small shops, and a few mothballed fishing docks. Passing a gas station, Ranger stopped, refueled his truck, and bought a cup of coffee and a few energy bars for the road. As he got back into his truck, heavy seagulls wheeled in slow circles in the gray sky and landed near the dumpster of the adjacent diner, complaining in nasal squawks as they skirmished over whatever they’d found. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Fat, lazy flakes of snow had started to fall by the time Ranger got on the interstate. His windshield wipers set a wet, sighing rhythm as they brushed back and forth. Looking at the clock on his dashboard, Ranger knew he had several hours before he’d get to Wilmington. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>More than enough time, for example, to make at least one more phone call. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Honda. It was just that he didn’t really know how the man handled himself in a dynamic field of play. Or in a firestorm.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Inhaling, he started dialing. He frowned as he realized it was yet another number his fingers still knew without prompting, even though he hadn’t dialed it for years. Or, since Christ was a corporal, as Tank had been fond of saying. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He heard one ring, his finger hovering over the “end call” button. And then a crisp, “Dupont here. Who’s this?” resonated in his ear like the proverbial tolling bell.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger inhaled again. It had been a long time since he’d heard Tank use his last name. His voice was gruff and low pitched as always. And clearly suspicious.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo,” Ranger answered. “Just a voice from your past.” After a beat, he added, “I’m calling in a sit-rep from Marc Pardo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Tank grunted. ”Ghosts use the phone now?” Ranger could picture Tank’s face, forbidding yet expressionless, all his senses focused. A consummate pro, Tank wouldn’t give anything away until he knew more. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“I’ve always been a ghost,” Ranger replied. Quietly, almost casually, he added, “It’s what got us out of Al Anbar alive after the Charlie Foxtrot outside Haditha.” Ranger knew that only he and Tank knew the full story of their escape from that backfired mission. The one where they’d been set up by an allied spotter who had, it turned out, deep-cover allegiance to his former Soviet handler. It had been a mind-bender, an exercise in operational improvisation and layered sleight of hand that had been one of Ranger’s closest calls in the field. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>In fact, it had taken them months of operating undercover to close down the unexpected Trojan horse in their operation and to escape the province alive. Even after they’d succeeded, revealing the details after the mission ran the risk of exposing several operational secrets and allied sleepers that only a select few knew even in Special Ops.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So Ranger was very sure that Tank had never divulged the details of the operation to anyone, not even to his Army-mandated shrink. More importantly, though, if Tank was the same man he remembered, he would’ve just picked up the suggestion that Ranger was calling about a tricky operation. Of course, he reflected wryly, the fact that Ranger was calling at all had probably already given Tank a big clue. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Fine. You’ve got a situation report from Marc Pardo, a man I haven't heard from in the better part of a decade,” Tank’s bass voice echoed over the line. “This better be good. ‘Cause it’s Sunday afternoon, which we former Army types know is a day of no scheduled activities. At least, after a morning spent singing hymns and saying ‘amen’ at my mama’s church so she can show God and all his congregation that she raised a righteous son. So if you’re yanking my chain you’re in a world of hurt.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not yanking your chain. Not unless your tastes have changed.” It was an old joke but, again, a reminder of who they’d been, together. Once upon a time.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Tank rumbled. “Now I remember who I’m talking to.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger nodded to himself, reflecting that both he and Tank knew exactly who was on the other end of their phones. Given all they’d been through— the fundamental bone-and-sinew brotherhood of battle and the bloodied wounds of a dissolved business— they knew each other well. Ranger believed, at his core, he was speaking to a man who would take his six. A man who’d support him when the bullets flew, regardless of personal difficulties. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>And Ranger would do the same. Regardless.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>That said, Ranger remembered that Tank couldn’t see his meaningful nod when his former second-in-command’s voice grumbled over the phone, “So, while I love these meaningful silences between us, how ‘bout we skip to Pardo’s sit-rep now.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger replied in a matter-of-fact voice, “You remember Tino Clark?"   </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"The Feeb who sometimes hired Rangeman for jobs? Yeah, he was a straight arrow. What about him?"</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Pardo’s working a job for him right now,” Ranger began. ”It started as a perp trace. But, it turns out the target wasn’t running </span>
  <em>
    <span>from</span>
  </em>
  <span>. He’s running </span>
  <em>
    <span>to</span>
  </em>
  <span>. And there are others on that same path with a stockpile of militia toys,” he paused. “Got some neutralized at this point, but there’s still some targets on a domestic playing field where they’re not supposed to be.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“And I need to know this why?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“It involves a few different letters of the alphabet and one or more are dirty.” Ranger answered. “Beyond that, it’s converging down by you. And, Clark’s gone radio silent.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger could hear the steady puffs of Tank’s breath over the phone. He knew his former second-in-command; knew to let him think through what he’d just been told. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Okay,” Tank resumed speaking. “I get it. Pardo chased a worm and ran into an unexpected nest of snakes. Nothing new there.” Then he snorted. “But because Pardo is a paranoid bastard, he’s decided that the silence of his employer means something ominous, rather than that the man simply doesn’t feel like writing a honkin’ big check. Oh, and he thinks I’ll give a shit because it’s somehow in my neighborhood. Does that about cover it?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That’s one way of looking at it,” Ranger answered with dark amusement. Despite Tank’s moment of blowing off steam, Ranger was sure that Tank did understand the outlines of what Ranger was telling him. After all, Tank hadn’t hung up yet. And, if anyone was listening, Tank’s bluster was perfect cover. And yeah, a bit of payback, too.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Shrugging to himself, Ranger continued, “Remember back to that dinner with ex-brass we had at the Bisuteki, shortly after we retired?” Ranger referenced a particularly difficult meeting they’d had at a local restaurant, where John Whelan— the Wolf— had been one of the especially shady characters probing to find their interest in off-the-books operations. He knew Tank would remember; Bisuteki had become one of their code words for contracts that were gilded opportunities to leap into a complete shit-storm. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“How could I forget? Those flashing beef knives were a special moment.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger huffed a quick laugh. “Very true, though right now I’m recalling the wolf waiting on the sidelines to pounce.” Ranger emphasized the word “wolf” knowing that Tank would also pick up that long-used code word for Whelan, given the context. “Got that very animal, right now, waiting just outside the door toward which Pardo’s targets are all headed.” In the silence he added. “As is Pardo.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tank’s exhale was slow. Deliberate. “I get the picture,” he began. “But I’m not sure why I’m getting this call. As Pardo used to remind me, I’m working corporate nanny security these days, keeping the world safe for Brooks Brothers suits, mergers, and acquisitions. I don’t hire out for enforcement or mop-up gigs. No more ‘redecorations’ neither.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>As he exhaled in familiar amusement, Ranger idly wondered when he and Tank had first coined the phrase "redecoration" in a moment of black humor. “This is more off-the-books than a mission,” Ranger replied. “Basically, the situation has the potential to become a total soup sandwich,” he explained, using an old Army term for a mission gone unexpectedly wrong. “It needs someone on-site who I can be sure isn’t tangled in this mess. Even if just eyes-on.” He squared his shoulders. “Especially if it happens that Pardo doesn’t make it to the endgame.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Tank replied after a few breaths of silence. “You’re not exactly doing a great job on selling this, bro.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Soft-selling has never been my skill,” Ranger replied somewhat absently as noted that he needed to change lanes to take the proper fork in the highway, ahead. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No shit,” Tank snorted. After another pause, he asked, “Okay, so where and when?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Is this a secure phone?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“No, but I can be at one in about fifteen minutes. Gotta head home to feed my seven cats, first.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Good to know,” Ranger nodded, knowing that Tank had just told him that he still had the secure line from when they were at Rangeman, and that the second-to-last digit in the number had changed to seven. Yet another phone number he now knew by heart. He stretched back into his seat. “Okay, Pardo’s headed there from Boston, so we’ve got time. Depending on traffic, it could be up to five hours.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Boston, huh?” Tank’s voice was suspiciously casual. Speculative. At which point Ranger recalled the comments Stephanie had made about having given her address to Tank. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Who hadn’t passed the information to Ranger. Squinting, Ranger quickly partitioned aside his sudden fury as he reevaluated his situation with Tank. It was the same split-second review he’d conduct for any ally after the field of engagement had shifted. He examined their shared history; the many times they’d been there for each other. And he remembered that even while they were most at odds, during the sale of Rangeman, Tank had scrupulously made sure that Ranger got his full value for his share of the company and the equity he’d put in. And he’d fired the lawyers who’d suggested otherwise. Which was the type of man Tank had always been.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>So despite everything, Ranger concluded that he probably could still trust Tank to have his back in a firefight, in a shitstorm, in whatever situation required the heroism and loyalty of men who’d gone through hell relying on nothing but each other. Probably. But they did have some goddamned unfinished business. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah Boston,” Ranger finally answered, his jaw square with tension as he tried to keep the growl out of his voice. “Where I spent the last week with someone that some of our men used to call the Bombshell Bounty Hunter.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“That so?” Tank’s voice was non-committal. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yeah. It was really good to see her. And, you know, I had no idea she was there. But then she told me that she’d given you her address years ago.” He paused, waiting for Tank to speak. When he didn’t, Ranger prodded, “You remember: back when we were in Trenton. When I was wondering where she’d gone.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>After a couple more breaths, Tank’s low voice replied. “With all expectation that we’re speaking freely here, as I recall you actually weren’t in Trenton then. You’d done a runner, off to a mission that ran for over a year, leaving everyone back there wondering if you were even alive. Leaving </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span> in the position to not be able to tell anyone, because of security clearances and all that shit. Yeah, I remember.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Before Ranger could reply, Tank continued, “And you wonder why I didn’t tell you where she had gone? Well, before you left on that mission, you had already told Bobby, Lester, and me that you were stepping back from her. You were fairly clear on the point. And I agreed: that relationship was never good for you. Too much ping-ponging back and forth, and too much of your time spent in her parking lot at zero-two-hundred in the goddamned morning while her TV flickered. It wasn’t exactly normal; it certainly wasn’t what you needed after you came back.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Despite the truth in Tank’s words, the last few days had brought back how much Stephanie had always, oddly, been a balm to Ranger’s soul, a puzzle that kept his demons at bay. “Seems to me that should’ve been my decision,” Ranger kept his voice cool as he watched the road. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Apparently Tank picked up the anger encapsulated by that coolness. Or, more likely, he simply knew Ranger very well and wasn’t planning to back down. “Really? We gonna do this right now? Because it seems to me that you called me to ask a fairly big favor, not to just shoot the breeze and debrief about old relationships.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“The thing is,” Ranger began while checking his mirrors for tails. “Normal relationship or not, she gave you her address in good faith. She trusted you. So I do wonder why didn’t you pass it along,” his voice was clipped. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Seriously,” Tank growled back. “Just like now, we had a lot more important things going on than passing notes between you and your sweet things. Whether that’s Stephanie, Jeanne Ellen, or otherwise. Frankly, none of that seemed to matter as much as the fact that you were losing it. And taking our company down with you. And that I was working 24-7 to keep our business afloat— note the stress on </span>
  <em>
    <span>our</span>
  </em>
  <span> in that phrase— long enough to get top value for it. Which happens to enable your present lifestyle I might add.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tank’s inhale was followed by an audible exhale, like an echo of a mortar’s </span>
  <em>
    <span>fwoomp</span>
  </em>
  <span> as was fired from its tube. “So I didn’t tell you where your ex-girlfriend had moved months ago. There were a few other things going on, don’t you think?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger took a moment to loosen his fingers, which were in the process of strangling the steering wheel. “I remember that you had time to tell me a lot of what was pissing you off, in a fair amount of detail. I remember you passing me all type of advice from people who didn’t agree with me.” He felt his eyes narrow. “Furthermore, you knew that that she was important to me, whether I was dating her or not. She </span>
  <em>
    <span>trusted</span>
  </em>
  <span> you, Tank.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He felt himself go cold at an unexpected thought that pulled the rug out from under him. “Can I trust you now?” He heard himself ask the question before his mind finished processing the heresy that had sprung into his mind. He was furious. He was aghast. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Can you what?” Tank’s voice traveled an entire octave on the question. “Well fine, let’s throw down, then,” he snarled. “I’m not even going into your habit of hiring your girlfriend and spending company resources to bail her out. That’s old history, and these days it ain’t nothing but a management case study on pitfalls when running a small business.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Even through the lens of his anger and confusion, Ranger let that criticism slough off, figuring Tank had been holding that in for a long while. And it wasn’t entirely unfair. With distance and time he couldn’t argue that he’d sometimes let his dick make management decision. At a minimum, hiring Stephanie should’ve been signed off by Tank or Bobby the way all other hires had been. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Tank’s next inhale was fierce. “But you tell me,” he growled. “In which reality do I give the address of a single mother, an ex-girlfriend, to a man who comes back from a year-long undercover op wired like a roadside bomb, and who is picking fistfights in biker bars?” His breath rasped. “We may go way back, and have done some damage in our time, but I ain’t with that. And I never will be.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Tank paused, and then in a timbre even lower than usual, he ground out. “You talk about trust. How about protecting and guarding? Putting ourselves on the line to make sure people are safe. Isn’t that what you’ve always upheld? And now you doubt me?” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>At that, Ranger’s mind did a full stop. He continued breathing; he continued driving. But it was as though time itself had started over at that moment, tumbling his memories over each other as though each second, each minute, was resetting itself into a different timeline. The slow rhythm of his windshield wipers revealed the view through the drifting snow, over and over, like the brush of a new heartbeat. Each car that passed the other direction was like a thought that was just out of reach. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Through it all, he was reliving moments in that final time in Trenton through Tank’s eyes. And it wasn’t pretty. Tank may have often been judgmental and bullheaded, but Ranger had often been a sonofabitch. No matter. Through all the time they’d known each other, Tank had always been one thing: honest. No, two things: honest and resolute. Somehow, Ranger had discounted those virtues, seeing only the stubbornness when it didn’t suit his purpose. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Truth was: he could see it now. He truly had been starting to unravel. And, in his own trouble, Ranger had left others to pick up the pieces he’d left behind. Which was </span>
  <em>
    <span>not </span>
  </em>
  <span>like him. Yet, it was clear that he’d been absent when Stephanie needed him most. He’d left Tank to make sure that everyone landed safely when Ranger had crashed. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He'd left Tank to keep Stephanie safe, so that's what he'd done in a way that reflected his own values.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>While his mind sifted through facts and feelings, Ranger changed lanes to pass a slow-moving plow. He checked the GPS on his dashboard, and noted the next interchange that required him to change lanes again. He counted his breaths, feeling the flare of his nostrils while fighting his injured pride.  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Well, he’d begun making amends for the first of those trespasses over the past week. And Stephanie, in her amazing way, had navigated through her own anger and his and shown him compassion. Had reminded him, simply by being herself, why he’d found her so important in his life in the first place. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Squaring his shoulders, Ranger broke the silence. “You’re right, Tank.” He left the words, unadorned, an offering in the air, but knew he still needed to say more. Tank, like him, was a proud man whose loyalty was worth everything. So, he continued, “And I was wrong to doubt you or your motives, then or now. Even if we disagreed, I should’ve tried to understand.” He paused. “I’m sorry. And I thank you for looking out for Stephanie. I couldn’t see it then, but I do now. You did the right thing.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Now it was Tank’s turn to be silent. Ranger was willing to wait. He took a cleansing breath and reached for the coffee he’d picked up earlier at the gas station. Lukewarm with a bitter edge from sitting in the pot for too long, it reminded Ranger of so many stakeouts and missions. So many moments spent in a truck, jeep, or blind, sipping crappy coffee in silence with Tank at his side.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Huh,” Tank grunted finally over the phone. “Okay, I hear you,” he paused. “And I can work with that.” He snorted, his exhale breathy and robust like a bull that doubted whether the matador at the other side of the arena was worth his time. “Are we cool, for now? Or do we have to do some Oprah shit, too?”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ranger almost laughed, imagining Stephanie rolling her eyes at the “bro’ code” of male communication. He knew that there was still a lot for him and Tank both to process, and some primal hurts to resolve. But he knew again— like Tank also knew— where they stood. “I’m cool if you are, Tank.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Then we’re cool,” he affirmed. Then, in a neutral tone, he added, “Like I said, I’ll be at that secure phone in about fifteen minutes. Call me then.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Got it. The caller ID will be bogus.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>"Yeah," Tank snorted. "I think I'll know that it's you after I answer and you bark orders at me. Just like old times," he said as he hung up.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>Ending the call on his side, Ranger heard what Tank was telling him. They truly could work together, just like old times, while they figured out what their new "normal" would be. That was more than good enough for Ranger.</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He took his hand from the wheel and prepared to turn off his personal phone for the remainder of this operation. It was a necessary step, he’d learned, to avoid distractions along with the possibility of getting a call at an inconvenient moment. Then he paused. He wanted to make one final call. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>The phone rang only once. “Yo,” Stephanie’s voice bubbled with humor as she answered. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Yo yourself,” he replied, and he felt himself relax. It was a new and yet familiar feeling: he was calling home. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Everything going okay?” She asked, the sound of the TV murmuring in the background. </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Getting there, Steph, getting there,” he answered, and knew it was true. “You might be getting a call from Stony. He won’t be happy that I’m headed across state lines and I’m about to go phone-silent. Just tell him what you think is safe. And reassure him that I plan to return for my hearing so he’ll get his bond back.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Not to worry, I know Stony. I can deal with him.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Thanks.” He sat back against his seat and quietly added, “And thank Sarah for loaning me her Saint Martin’s medal. I hope to hand it back to her soon.”</span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“She’ll be very happy to hear it,” Her voice caressed. “And I am too, Rick.”  </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>“Me too, Babe. Me too.” </span>
</p>
<p>
  <span>He listened while Stephanie resumed speaking, taking in the details of her day, her thoughts, her ideas. Cataloguing them for future thought while he let her voice wash over him like a quiet blessing as he drove. He was well aware that he’d just made a promise to her daughter, and to her. One that he was going to do everything in his considerable ability to keep. </span>
</p>
<p> </p>
<p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0037"><h2>37. Making It Work</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 37: Making It Work</b>
</p><p>
  <span>“Son of a </span>
  <em>
    <span>bitch</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ranger spat as he felt the impact of a bullet sear across his left shoulder followed by the initial, telltale numbness of flesh not knowing how to react to pain. Rotating his arm quickly while ducking behind a panel, he determined that the wound hadn’t impaired his motion. No bone or significant muscle damage; it was just a flesh wound. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Good</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Glancing back, he saw Tank’s shadow in the doorway facing into the large room. Without having to think, he knew Tank had that exit covered— handgun at the ready and short carbine strapped over his shoulder— while he scanned for the gunman they knew was still on the move within the building. Despite himself, Ranger had been impressed this morning when he’d seen the firearms Tank had brought for his own use. High-powered and deadly. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All fully licensed,” Tank had asserted under his breath while donning a bulletproof vest this morning, as though daring Ranger to claim otherwise. For his part, Ranger had simply smirked as he’d finished suiting up. He had his own weapons, his tools of the trade. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger had clicked his utility belt closed, he’d spotted Tank surreptitiously checking out his service revolver. It was a trusty souvenir from Middle East missions that Tank would recognize. Ranger had made sure to include it in his second couriered package to Stephanie’s house, of course after he’d ensured that his first package had arrived unopened. It was a weapon Ranger knew intimately, one that had seen him through some of the darkest times of service. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And now, with two fields of action in front of him, Ranger was glad to have a familiar weapon in his hand. And to once again have Tank at his flank. It had been too long; he could finally admit it to himself. Far too long.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The snapping, thundering </span>
  <em>
    <span>sproing</span>
  </em>
  <span> of a handgun firing from the alcove to the right gave him an updated location for the man who was currently his target, Mateus Figueroa. It was the closest he’d been to the man since he’d been in Allston a little over a week ago. This time, Ranger was going to catch the asshole. Alive, if possible, so he could be </span>
  <em>
    <span>persuaded</span>
  </em>
  <span> to confess that he’d framed Ranger for that faked gang assassination shortly afterward.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Wounded was okay, though. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger made a signal to Honda’s man, Agent Davis, who was in position to the left and slightly behind. He’d gauged him already, recognizing another ex-army man who’d know the tactics and signals he was using. Probably that’s why Honda had assigned Davis to Ranger’s portion of the operation in the first place. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, that and the fact that the agent was about the age to have been stationed in Afghanistan, so he probably had experience at reigning-in allied hostiles in an embedded training situation. Ranger felt a smirk briefly lift his lips at the thought of how he could’ve played this situation if he were back in Special Forces, getting ready for another undercover mission.</span>
</p><p><span>Right now, though, it was time to move. He slipped into the shadows in a half crouch, watching as Honda’s man mirrored him. Ranger was glad he’d been able to find plans for this facility</span> <span>last night in an online zoning board website. While Fennelly’s description of this building as a warehouse had been essentially correct, as soon as Ranger had looked at the structure’s outline on the internet he’d known it was an old, repurposed factory that had been simply cleared out to serve as storage. </span></p><p>
  <span>In essence, it was a building with open spaces separated by odd nooks and crannies, concrete pillars and half walls, the remains of internal freight lifts, and the shell of a mechanical room. When he’d showed the plans to Honda in the early hours this morning, the Homeland Security man had simply nodded. It was a classic structure ideal for urban warfare; an apparent open area riddled with obscured blind spots and nooks ideal for planned or impromptu ambush.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not to mention the remains of a second floor supervisory level, which Fennelly had called a balcony when describing the building to Ranger. Unsurprisingly, that was where Figueroa’s handler had been ensconced when Honda’s team had crept into the building from its multiple entrances. Hidden behind plywood, he’d only been visible as a shadow cast by the high, partially intact windows that backlit the rear of the structure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda’s team, of course, had known the shadowy figure would be up there. While it had still been dark, his men had established position in the surrounding buildings, quietly neutralizing the handful of armed men they’d found. They’d determined by heat signature that Figueroa and his handler were in the building, with only a pair of snipers in the beams above the main room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though that pair hadn't stayed above the fray for long. Knowing that the two sharpshooters were in position, Ranger had outlined an approach that would move the man on the balcony away from his location, forcing the armed men to choose which target to cover on the ground. It was a tactic Ranger had used many times to split tactical teams in the field and also to disrupt their accustomed pattern of work. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As predicted, one of the two had shifted to follow Figueroa’s handler. And, as Ranger had half-expected, it had caused a previously unseen sniper in another building to be revealed. At that point the action had split, with most of Honda’s men pursuing the shadowy figure from the balcony, and Ranger in the warehouse to round up Figueroa.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though his thoughts had triggered action, Ranger suddenly heard a volley of shots and running feet from above. Then a series of percussive clangs along the outside wall, from top to bottom, let him know that action had shifted to the ground via the iron tangle of fire-escape metalwork outside. Figueroa’s handler was on the run, with Honda’s men still in pursuit.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though Ranger would’ve liked to be part of that chase, Honda had insisted that Ranger’s target in the operation should be Figueroa. And, ultimately Ranger had agreed. He had the skip apprehension paperwork, so no questions would be asked about Ranger’s part in a Homeland-directed operation. And since Tank still maintained his Fugitive Apprehension license in Delaware, Ranger could bring him into his case with no questions asked. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And if, during the operation, one of Honda’s agents turned his attention momentarily to assist Ranger’s part of the chase, that was explainable also. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Another shot echoed from Ranger’s left, a rifle shot that hit one of the concrete supports in the room and shattered flint-sharp pieces of pebble and rock into the air. A second shot followed, this time erupting into the cement floor somewhere behind him. Based on the origin and angle of the shots, Ranger now knew the general location of the missing sniper. He adjusted his location slightly for additional cover.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger heard a rifle cocked behind him, he smiled grimly. Tank knew the sniper’s general location also. Ranger’s smile turned into an annoyed scowl as a gunshot erupted from the storeroom on the right, where Figueroa was holed up. He let it go, knowing that the man was essentially trapped and using up his ammo. Instead, he made a signal to Agent Davis that he could focus on the sharpshooter while Ranger kept Figueroa contained. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>After another shot from the storeroom, Ranger returned fire. Just enough to let Figueroa know that he was still pinned. Meanwhile, the trailing crash of a rifle sounded behind him, and another shot came from where Honda’s man was crouched. The voices and other sounds in the room told him that Tank and Davis were okay, so Ranger continued focusing on the situation ahead of him. He evaluated and discounted sounds from outside of the warehouse, since they indicated the chase was headed away from this building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger mentally reviewed the blueprints he’d seen of this building. The room Figueroa was in had only the single entrance, which Ranger was watching. So, he was trapped, but anyone going in to retrieve him was also walking into an ambush. Even in the haze from weapons fire, the doorway would be a clear shot from anywhere in the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So while action wheeled around him, Ranger considered the options for retrieving Figueroa. The man was in a room that was small and connected to the rest of the warehouse, so not good for a flashbang. Too much risk of injury, and a strong likelihood that anyone close enough to advance on the room would be affected as much as Figueroa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Perhaps one of Tank’s smoke grenades would do. After all, Ranger and Tank had experience with urban combat when visual input was basically non-existent. So, they just needed to get the sniper settled. And with that thought, another quick volley of rifle fire sounded behind him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Scraping followed by a crash in the storeroom told Ranger that Figueroa was either making a defensive wall or building a path up to the boarded-up window along the back wall. Either way, Ranger wasn’t particularly worried. A plywood or box wall wouldn’t deter Ranger, Tank, and Davis if they managed to get into the room. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Regarding the window, Ranger knew that Figueroa would shortly discover that it faced an area being excavated, leaving over two storeys of drop. In other words, it wasn’t an exit unless the man preferred serious injury or death over capture. Ranger didn’t read him as being that type of man. He might be stupid enough to try, though.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Finally, he heard the sound of zip ties and the operational tones of Tank’s voice. “Tango down,” he called out, confirming that the sniper still inside the building had been captured alive. Ranger could hear the satisfaction in his former second’s voice. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Affirmative,” Ranger replied. Then, considering the storeroom, he commented in a louder than conversational voice, “So that means Figueroa, in there, doesn’t have backup now.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger heard more scraping and the sound of glass breaking. Though effectively trapped, the man imagined he still had a hope of escaping. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, Mateus,” Ranger called out, using Figueroa’s first name with what was probably insulting familiarity. “We got your buddy Fennelly yesterday. He's singing like a bird.” After a pause, hearing nothing but some huffed breaths from the storeroom, Ranger added almost casually, “He says you were forcing him to do what he did, that it was all you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Fode-te</span>
  </em>
  <span>," Figueroa’s gruff voice called out in Portuguese. “Fuck you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger just smiled. “I got your sons, too. Joao and Hamidi, they're good boys,” Ranger paused. “Don’t expect to ever see them again, by the way.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing Tank stand in his periphery, on the other side of the room, Ranger held up his hand to stop him in place. He then flashed a set of hand signals; old signs for when they’d been undercover and had learned to communicate complex ideas through gestures. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank nodded. While Ranger continued distracting Figueroa, his former second in command leaned over Agent Davis to discuss Ranger’s plan in whispers. The gist of it was that Ranger wanted Davis outside to guard the windows, just in case Figueroa had delusions of flight. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger could see that Davis wasn't happy, but Ranger just smirked as Honda’s man started heading to the external door. Tank could be damnably emphatic when the situation required it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>While all that was occurring off to the side, Ranger kept talking. “You know, Mateus, while you're somewhere in prison for the rest of your life, your sons are going to grow up hearing all about what a bad man you are. They'll find out how you abducted them from home so you could have their company on your cross-country crime spree. How you’d kiss them on the forehead and then go out to kill people.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ignoring the quiet swearing he heard from the room, Ranger continued grimly, “Or they'll hear what a screwup you were, trying over-and-over to frame the same person.” His eyes narrowed, “And only after your boss grabbed you by the balls because you were making yourself too damned visible.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <em>
    <span>Eh, cabrão</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Figueroa’s insult echoed from the room. “Why don't you ever get a hint? You should be grateful, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>filho da puta</span>
  </em>
  <span>. I let you live. A couple times.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger felt his eyebrow wing upward. Under his breath he scorned, “Yeah, not so grateful for waking up in a car soaked in cheap booze and set up for a gang shooting.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Tank’s voice huffed with amusement from the pillar on Ranger’s left, where Agent Davis had previously been crouched. “You’re telling me this lowlife got the drop on you?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger grunted, and started to reply in irritation. Then Tank continued talking. “Any particular body part I should start with after we grab him?” Tank’s smirk was audible in his voice. Ah, this was a game they'd played before. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Dealer’s choice,” Ranger’s voice purred sardonically as he glanced back at Tank. “Just make sure it hurts.” As Tank’s huffed amusement, Ranger added, “And smoke ‘em if you got ‘em.” He pointed to the smoke grenade on Tank’s belt. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank nodded, knowing exactly what to do. He stood from his crouch and reached his hand down for the grenade on his belt. As he prepared to throw, he commented, “Been too long since we’ve had a good Caribbean cookout.” His eyes swiveled quickly to Ranger, then back to the door. “One smoked jerk chicken coming up.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s my kind of party,” Ranger answered with a brief hunter’s smile. Pulling on his tactical goggles, he prepared to rush the door. There was no way they’d miss catching Figueroa, trapped as he was and sightless as he was about to be.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, he’d been right. About an hour later, Figueroa was in custody, being questioned on site by a couple of Honda’s men. Ranger was amused to see that their disposition was less than sunny, since they’d returned empty-handed from their pursuit of Figueroa's handler. Well, Ranger knew that feeling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Injured gunmen from the storage facility had already been transported to the hospital under guard, leaving only lightly injured members of Honda’s team to be patched up. Along with Ranger, who was impatiently perched in the rear doorway of a cargo van that was kitted out as a makeshift medical station. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger inhaled briskly, the bite of cold air in his nostrils balancing the burn of antiseptics along his exposed shoulder. If this were his mission, his minor wound would’ve waited until after the mission debrief. Annoyed at having been tagged by a wild shot, like a rookie, he’d removed his jacket and sweater as soon as he and Tank had delivered Figueroa into Honda’s custody. Quickly, through his T-shirt, he’d verified that he’d only suffered a flesh wound. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Despite that, both Tank and Honda had glowered at him until he’d sat down to get his shoulder cleaned and bandaged. Possibly trying to participate in a briefing with occasional drops of blood pooling from his arm had proved to be too much of a distraction for those not used to working with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, while a stocky, obviously ex-military paramedic worked to clean his shoulder wound, patch it, and protect it in gauze, Ranger watched the Homeland operational wrap-up underway in the parking lot behind the storage facility. He shivered once as a gust of chilly wind swirled against the open door where he was seated. He shook his head, though, when the paramedic offered him a foil blanket. He wasn’t going into hypothermia, he was simply impatient to put his sweater and coat back on so he could return to the impromptu briefing with Honda. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At least Tank was in the huddle with Honda, professional in his SWAT-style gear, seamlessly acting the part of Ranger’s partner as though no time had passed since the last time they’d worked together. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger shifted as the other van door opened, revealing a member of Honda’s team who’d also been injured. Bruised and scraped from tumbling down a rusted ladder, the agent had also twisted his ankle in pursuit of Figueroa’s hander. Now done with being iced and wrapped, Honda’s injured man joked with the female agent who’d come over to help him out of the vehicle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Exhaling, Ranger realized that he was observing the two agents jostle with a pair of crutches as though cataloguing personality traits and weak points to use later. He shook his head and looked aside, refocusing his gaze briefly in the distance where snow continued to filter down in moist, lazy petals. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He flashed to a long-forgotten memory of Stephanie. It had been a snowy day outside of Tasty Pastry. She’d been argumentative, berating him for cataloging people instead of getting to know them. And for not paying attention to her opinion. At the time, though, he remembered he’d been more focused on the fact that her temper had been high and she’d been wearing a navy beret; a combination that Ranger now recalled had inspired several nights of quite enjoyable French Resistance fantasies. His lips twisted in amusement; just the memory made him feel a bit more lively than he should, sitting in the cold with a deep, pulsing ache carved along the muscle of his shoulder. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, yet again, Stephanie had been right about him. In more ways than one, he reflected ruefully. After all, what did it say about him that he’d focused on weaving Stephanie into an extended fantasy to ignore the flesh-and-blood woman who was criticizing him for ignoring her input? Interestingly, he realized that he’d just envisioned that fantasy again, but this time with Stephanie at her current age. She was glaring in undisguised impatience from under that blue beret. Maybe his subconscious was catching up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As the two agents moved away from the van, crutches finally in hand, Ranger swiveled his attention back to the paramedic who was still finishing his gauze work. Huffing in annoyance, Ranger kept himself still to avoid interrupting his patch job. The quicker it was done, the sooner he’d be able to rejoin Tank and Honda.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though, at the moment, the action had shifted back to Figueroa. Ranger watched as Agent Davis escorted the cuffed man to one of the dark SUVs parked beside a row of storage units. Ranger wasn’t sure whether he was satisfied that Figueroa looked disheveled, or displeased that he didn’t look worse than that. With a tilt of his head, he decided to go with </span>
  <em>
    <span>satisfied</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Especially since the man had confirmed to Agent Davis that Ranger had been framed in the staged gang slaying in Boston last week. While Figueroa didn’t confess to his active involvement, the combination of Ranger and Tank glaring at him had encouraged the man to provide at least that amount of clarification before Ranger had been banished to the medical van.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Unsurprisingly, as questioning returned to that point, Ranger had heard Figueroa pin the supposed gang shooting on Krc, with his very visible facial scar. It was a potentially clever move, since Krc was now dead and couldn’t deny Figueroa’s claims. And, if Ranger recalled correctly, the Boston PD had found a couple witnesses who’d seen a scarred man driving in the car shortly before the shooting. The same car in which Ranger had later been dumped. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The main point, for now, was that Figueroa’s statement to Agent Davis, spoken in Honda’s hearing, provided a foundation that could overturn the charges against Ranger. He’d seen Tank buttonhole Davis on his way to the Homeland SUV; Ranger had no doubt that Davis was being instructed to make that part of Figueroa’s testimony available for use in the Boston court system.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’d also seen Honda’s wry, evaluating glance toward the van while Figueroa had spun his story of Krc, the supposed master planner who had a beef with Ranger. No doubt Honda was making mental note that Ranger hadn’t divulged his own legal entanglements yesterday at Fennelly’s garage, while describing his hunt for Figueroa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As he watched, the group of agents around Honda began to disperse. Honda’s eyes scanned the scene, alighting briefly on Ranger and then continuing to scan as he headed toward a different SUV, cellphone in hand. Ranger tensed. He'd understood why he'd been omitted from the car accompanying Figueroa for further questioning and detention. After all, the role of a bounty hunter usually ended by returning his target to law enforcement custody. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But he needed to talk with Honda before the man left; needed to wrap this up and determine his status. For one, because he still had some questions for Figueroa. More importantly, though, Figueroa’s contact from the balcony had managed to evade capture. Ranger was sure that interrogation of the armed security would point them to John Whelan, the man who seemed to be pulling the strings of this dirty operation from all evidence Ranger had seen. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And, with that, Ranger leaned forward and started to stand. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hold on,” the paramedic snapped, pushed firmly down on Ranger’s far shoulder with respectable force. “Let me finish bandaging this. Then you can go back to saving the world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger scowled at the man. “Will that be any time today, do you think?” he answered with a chilly mildness. And then he heard Tank’s unmistakable laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to know that you’re still a joy to medical personnel everywhere,” Tank’s deep voice commented as he approached. “You can slow your roll, though. Your friend Honda is coming over here after he gets done doing whatever agency crap he’s got going on.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger grunted his acknowledgement as he felt the paramedic raise his arm for bandaging. </span>
  <em>
    <span>About goddamned time</span>
  </em>
  <span>, he thought, knowing that he was being uncharitable and that the man was being both professional and efficient at his job. Ranger simply wasn’t suited to sitting still while others planned and acted. Never had been. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, Tank tilted his head speculatively. “Honda told me you got his name from Joe Morelli, of all people,” his former second rumbled, crossing his arms. “And only after that— after you find yourself half in an ambush— that’s when you finally figure out you could call me.” He paused. “Oh wait, no. That was Marc Pardo. You, however, still haven’t called.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger pursed his lips. “Yeah, well, it’s been awhile since I’ve needed to call someone to tell me what an asshole I am.” He resisted the urge to shrug. “Don’t worry, you’re still on speed dial for that.” Seeing Tank’s nostrils flare, Ranger acknowledged that he did owe the man more explanation. After all, Tank had a point: Ranger had apparently trusted a former adversary to help on his mission before he’d strapped on a pair and called Tank, his former brother in arms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I called and spoke to your cats, remember?” Ranger raised his eyebrows in a mock question, referencing the long conversation they’d had yesterday after he’d called Tank’s secure phone. “The bottom line is: we’ve all changed. Since Trenton, I’ve been on jobs that intersected Morelli’s turf. And, on his own, he’s a good cop. Intuitive. Knows how to work in the gray areas of the law to help people.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Ranger did shrug, ignoring the paramedic’s huffed annoyance. “I guess he’s smarter than I used to admit. After all, he’s Chief of Detectives these days, in one of the largest cities in New Jersey. So yeah, I’m comfortable trying out a recommendation from him after I know he understands the danger.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Keeping his eyes locked on Tank’s, he explained further, “But, you know me: I don’t read anyone into my business unless there’s a need-to-know. In this case, Stephanie got ahead of me. I’d forgotten how she always did that,” he admitted, a bit chagrined. “Anyhow, she’s the one who reached out to Morelli. I wouldn’t have, on my own.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He didn’t elaborate on whether he’d have reached out to Tank, regardless. He wanted to think that he would have, but somehow a week of Stephanie had made it seem like a more obvious thing to do. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the resulting silence, the paramedic finished taping Ranger’s shoulder with a brief flourish. “Okay, you’re all set, Captain America. Stitches and a set of butterfly bandages. I put a layer of plastic over the dressing since you’ll be out in the elements, but get someone to re-wrap your shoulder tonight and take that layer out so the wound can breath.” He reached behind him. “You want to cut off the rest of that T-shirt?” He held out a pair of utility scissors.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rolling his shoulder to verify his range of motion, Ranger took the scissors and sliced up the front of his T-shirt and across the remaining, intact sleeve. In one part of his brain he registered that he’d done this often enough that he hadn’t even needed to think about the steps. He passed the scissors back to the medic with a nod of thanks. Standing, he shed the tatters of his former shirt and turned to find his sweater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Huh,” Tank exhaled as he uncrossed his arms. “Good thing you got that ‘tat’ done on your chest instead of your shoulder. Would’ve needed Betsy Ross to work the stitches over that bullet graze so they’d look all fine in that fancy design of yours.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, that’s exactly what I was thinking when I got it done,” Ranger said as he wrestled his sweater over his head with help from the paramedic. “Besides, it’s always better to have a target right over my heart than on my shoulder,” Ranger resisted the urge to roll his eyes as he paraphrased Hector’s jibe.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your words bro’. Not mine.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger picked up his coat, shrugged it on, and fished out his watch cap and gloves from the pockets. Looking up, he noticed that the snow had stopped falling. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw Honda emerge from his SUV.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mañoso, Dupont, let’s finish this up,” Honda waved them over with a quick hand gesture. Tank looked at Ranger, shrugged, and they both started walked almost in unison. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Leaning against his vehicle, Honda’s gaze encompassed them both. “Good work today. You reeled in Figueroa faster than I expected.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank huffed in amusement. “Ranger could irritate an angel enough to prefer arrest over having to listen any longer,” Tank deadpanned. “Let alone a fugitive.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Amusement flickered briefly in Honda’s eyes. “I may have noticed an element of, shall we say </span>
  <em>
    <span>persuasiveness</span>
  </em>
  <span> in your colleague.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Honda sniffed, his face returning to its former seriousness. “At the same time, my team still has work to do to track down the other player from today’s operation. And, at this point, with the evidence amassed, I do consider pursuit to be a matter for my team in Homeland rather than for you two.” Looking directly at Ranger, he emphasized, “After all, I’m quite sure that you don’t have bail-bond paperwork to pursue a man whose name is still speculation at this point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger exhaled, weighing his options. Finally he conceded, “You’re right, I don’t have a legal reason to remain in pursuit. However, I do have enough expertise in this type of operation to be able to see connections that might not be obvious. I don’t feel comfortable stepping away at this point.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda nodded, as though Ranger’s words weren’t a surprise. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a packet of cough drops. As he unwrapped one, he resumed speaking. “I think we unofficially confirmed one of the things you told us. A couple of my agents were at some inter-agency pow-wow a few years ago and remember the man you floated as being Figueroa’s handler, John Whelan.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He popped the cough drop in his mouth. “They both saw the guy from the balcony at different points of pursuit, today, and each one says that the guy looks like he could be Whelan. It’s not evidence, but it means that even if none of the gunmen we have in lockup or in the hospital say anything useful, we have a direction to pursue.” His gaze returned to Ranger’s in a studiously casual motion.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>dangerous</span>
  </em>
  <span> direction to pursue,” Ranger echoed Honda’s phrasing. “Whelan has a lot of black ops experience. At a minimum, let me give you a full download of what I’ve found out and who I’ve talked with over the past couple of months.” He lowered his voice. “And, be very careful who you brief on this. I’ve had more than one intelligence contact go radio-silent since I started pursuing this case. I don’t imagine that’s a coincidence.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank shifted, and Ranger imagined he was thinking of the man who’d hired Ranger for this job, Tino Clark. Like Ranger, Tank knew that Clark was an experienced field agent and a decent man who had plenty of contacts. Not someone who would voluntarily go silent in the middle of an operation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I hear you,” Honda replied. He straightened, no longer leaning against the SUV’s frame. “I would like that debrief, and frankly I’d like to do it indoors where the temperature is civilized.” He pulled back his coat sleeve and checked his wristwatch. “All right, one of my safe houses is just north of Baltimore. On Sunday afternoon, it’s a little over an hour away. But I have a few stops I have to make on the way. So, would you be able to meet around five p.m.? You can stay at the house overnight if you need.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger glanced quickly at Tank, reluctant to put himself in a building he didn’t know, controlled by an intelligence agency. At least, not until he had more experience with Honda. Trust was something you built based on experiences, and frankly he hadn’t gone through enough of them with Honda yet.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank inhaled and looked heavenward in a gesture that Ranger recognized well. Then, squaring his shoulders, Tank spoke. “This really isn’t my operation, and I am </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> involved... but I have a satellite office in Rosedale, on the way to Baltimore. Nobody will be there tonight, other than the building’s security guard. You can consider it neutral turf. I can give you both a code that will work tonight-only.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Works for me,” Ranger says after a moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda cast his evaluating gaze on Tank. “I take it this is a Centurion Security office, since that’s your firm?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes it is,” Tank affirmed. He then glanced quickly at Ranger with a dash of defiance. “It’s one of my corporate security division’s meeting spaces. It has the usual Beltway security setup, which means it’s non-descript on the outside with underground parking, windows you can’t see into, signal scrambling, sound isolation, and a mil-grade firewall.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He crossed his arms, and Ranger was amused to see his arms flex a bit under his jacket. “Since I’m the V.P. of that division, I can personally guarantee all cameras and recording devices will be off until five in the morning. I’ll tell my security guard, Oscar, that you’re coming, and he’ll stay out of your way.”  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Honda agreed mildly. “I guess that works for me, as well. Given the way this operation is shaping up, meeting in a non-obvious secure location seems wise.” He tilted his head. “Mr. Dupont, I’m gathering that you wish to, as they say, ‘disavow all knowledge’ of this operation going forward unless there is something that affects you or your company. Would that be correct?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You got that right,” Tank affirmed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Fine,” Honda nodded and then turned his attention to Ranger. “Mr. Mañoso, I gather you still have an interest.” He paused long enough for Ranger to nod his agreement, then resumed speaking. “I checked into your legal situation in Boston, given what we heard today from Figueroa.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger prepared to answer, Honda put up his hand. “I’m not done. First, it sounds like Figueroa's statement might be enough for the judge at your hearing, later this month, to drop charges against you. We’ll file that statement so your lawyer has it, and will attempt to make Figueroa or any further applicable testimony available. It’ll be needed, anyway, since he’s obviously an accessory by his own admission.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He inhaled, his eyes narrowing. “Second, I’m concerned that you withheld that situation from me. In the field, it makes me second guess your motives and what you’ll do.” He paused briefly. “For now, though, I can make sure that today’s situation report accounts for your additional interest in Figueroa’s case. It’s the type of detail that can be raised during discovery and be difficult to explain on the fly. Which is another reason I don’t like the people I work with to withhold relevant information.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I understand,” Ranger nodded, a grimace pulling at his lips. It was yet another reminder that he’d spent too long working in dark corners. He’d become accustomed to secrets; comfortable with working angles instead of working the system. He’d run this whole operation that way, perhaps by necessity, but it was finally kicking him in the ass. Well, the ass kicking had started in Allston when Figueroa had spotted and dropped him. Maybe even earlier. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He exhaled forcefully; this was why he was planning to get out of this type of fieldwork. Because, bottom line, Honda was giving him a rookie field correction and he was being generous about it. It wasn’t time to be superior; it was a time to be honest. “You’re right, I should have told you,” Ranger admitted, officer to officer, attempting to convey his earnestness in his expression. Their eyes remained locked for perhaps a full minute.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right,” Honda finally said, leaning back against his vehicle. “So, you and I will meet this evening and you can tell me what you know about this operation. All of it,” his brow rose in emphasis. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Separately,” Honda continued, “I have an expertise gap. My team has logged a lot of operations; we’ve traced and halted a variety of threats. But, as you noted, this stinks of domestic black ops.” He put his hands in his coat pockets. “So, to get some pointers, I called a contact who used to work at what they called Blackwater, back in the day. And don’t fuss; I didn’t give away details of this operation.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then Honda named his contact. Or rather, he named the man’s operational alias. At which point Ranger glanced at Tank, who nodded. That was a name they both knew from way back. Knew and trusted. Ranger’s lip lifted in appreciation as he turned back to Honda. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, we know him too,” Ranger commented. “Good choice.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda tipped his head. “The thing is, he’s not available to help. But he suggested an alternative.” With a barely detectable glimmer of amusement in his eyes, he continued. “Long story short, he suggested that I look you up, Mr. Mañoso, and see if you were open to taking a consulting gig.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tank snorted. Ranger ignored him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Depends on the gig,” Ranger answered. “But if it gives me a chance to see this through to the end, I’m interested.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda nodded slowly. “It would be for this operation, through arrest, discovery, and possibly trial. What I need is an analyst, a consultant. Someone who can help unravel the invisible aspects of a black operation of this type. Because I already can tell that your fellow Figueroa, along with his arms conduit Fennelly, is working in a classic stand-alone cell. Which means there are probably others. My team can follow trails with minimal evidence, but in this one we need help to know where to look in the first place.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger shifted; his injured shoulder was beginning to truly ache in the cold. “I’d prefer to be in the field,” he began. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not an option,” Honda didn’t let him complete that thought. “I have plenty of field agents who I know can get the job done. What I need is your expertise and input in planning. After all, you managed to trace through this whole operation thus far, based on understanding the clues you were seeing. That’s what I need, and what I’m willing to support.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger noticed that Honda didn’t mention that he probably didn’t fully trust Ranger in the field. But yet, even without that, he’d made a good argument. Knowledge of shadow agency operations was something Ranger could bring; something most field agents didn’t learn unless they’d worked off books, themselves. Like Ranger; like Tank. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He glanced sideways at Tank, who lifted his shoulder in a shrug and commented, “Takes the mind of a thief to catch a thief,” he quoted one of their former Special Forces commanders. “Makes sense to me, Rangeman.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When Ranger didn’t reply immediately, Tank huffed impatiently, misconstruing the direction of Ranger’s thoughts. “Come on,” he snapped. “This isn't a hard decision. Do you want to catch that S.O.B. who got away, and stop his operation? Or do you want to fart around in the field getting shot at ’cause you’re ‘all that’? Big strategic brain or little ‘get your rocks off’ brain; figure it out.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger glared at his former second, who was glaring right back. Last night he’d been thinking that perhaps he owed Figueroa thanks for having dropped him in Allston a week ago, since that was how Stephanie managed to find him. Perhaps though, he frowned, he also owed Figueroa for being in the line of Tank’s fire. Ranger wasn’t quite as sure that this merited the same level of thanks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Understood,” Ranger finally replied with asperity. “And, I think the idea has merit.” He looked at Honda. “Bring a draft agreement this evening and I’m likely to agree. Just, for now, keep it out of the system so it doesn’t raise any red flags.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that,” Honda straightened, and then opened the door of his SUV. “I’ll need that address,” he looked at Tank, who unfolded his arms to pull out a business card, followed by a pen. Turning over the card, he wrote something, then handed the card to Honda. “Security code is on the back. If you run into any problems, call my number on the front.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Honda nodded and got in his car. “Until later.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger nodded as Honda’s car started, and then realized Tank was handing him a card also. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Same code, same phone number,” Tank commented. After a beat, he emphasized, “Same ‘I’m not involved and my ass was never there,’ as well.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Ranger replied. “I hear you.” Then, more earnestly, he turned full-on to Tank. “Thanks for coming, for having my back.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t mention it.” Tank frowned. “Seriously, don’t.” After a pause he added, “And do me a favor, don’t shoot anyone in my building. I’m between cleaners and it’s hard to fix that shit without anyone noticing. And Oscar in security is goddamned pissy about that type of thing.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled, and then Tank’s face relaxed into a low rumbling laugh. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’ll do my best,” Ranger replied, “but you know me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, better than I wanna do,” Tank answered ruefully. “Alright, enough of this chit-chat. I’m outta here.” As he turned away, he added, “And now that you’ve rediscovered how to use the phone, you can try calling sometime when you’re not about to screw the pooch.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger snorted. “Yeah, I’ve got some catching up to do.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And I heard </span>
  <em>
    <span>that</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Tank agreed over his shoulder as he strode to his car. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger turned toward his own truck, he inhaled briskly, the cold air in his nose like the lance of fiery half-numbness he felt along his shoulder. And he realized that his first thought as he moved to end this afternoon’s action was that he looked forward to being in his truck, his heat running, while he described today’s events to Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe he’d spent too much time out in the cold, but he now realized that cold only meant something when you could contrast it with warmth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued…</span>
  </em>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0038"><h2>38. Bringing It Home</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 38: Bringing It Home</b>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie opened the top oven door to baste the nearly cooked Thanksgiving turkey, quickly ducking her face away from the aroma-filled blast of heat. At the far end of the counter, Mrs. Kloughn had finished unpacking her insulated carryall. The green bean and mushroom casserole that seemed to be Kloughn comfort food was next to the Plum-style candied yams and stuffing, all waiting in a disorderly mob to be reheated in the microwave. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, muffled voices pulsed life throughout the house, a football game was on in the livingroom, and music was playing upstairs. Additionally, she heard another sound upstairs that she’d missed all autumn: the determined footsteps of her daughter Angie, home from college for the long holiday weekend.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Closing the oven, Stephanie exhaled slowly with pleasure. She knew it was simplistic but food had always meant love in the Plum household. Where family was concerned, she had never once gone hungry. And though she made a conscious effort to be more verbal and expressive with her own family, holiday meals were still special, like a direct pathway to the heart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie topped off her mug of coffee from the family-sized pot that came out like a special guest for larger family dinners. Looking up, her gaze was drawn by the scene from the window above the counter. In the distance, she heard the metal clonk of a city plow’s flat scoop hitting the main street a couple blocks away, the muffled burr of a neighbor’s snowblower, and the scraping of a shovel from nearby. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Taking a sip, she lost herself temporarily in the view. Since yesterday evening, the outside world had transformed. The imperfections of rocks, shrubs, and yard furniture had become a marshmallow landscape of wind-smoothed pillows. The trees were bowed, powdered sugar confections. It was a Sugarplum Fairy wonderland spun in fresh snowflakes, a whole month before Christmas. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She chuckled briefly; who was she kidding? It was a Plum family holiday, which meant that the </span>
  <em>
    <span>sugar</span>
  </em>
  <span> was all courtesy of Entenmann's at breakfast. And the </span>
  <em>
    <span>wonder</span>
  </em>
  <span> was that Thanksgiving dinner was still on track despite having been largely prepared by the Plum family cavalcade this morning between bouts of shoveling, snowball fights, and three trips to the convenience store in her drafty Subaru.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Putting her coffee mug down, Stephanie looked at the wall clock for probably the tenth time this hour. Then, as she pulled her sweater tight against the feeling of winter, Mrs. Kloughn slid behind her. “Don’t worry, dear,” her gentle voice half whispered in Stephanie’s ear. “Your young man will be here soon.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie almost laughed at the thought of Ranger as her “young man.” Ranger, who was sex and danger stalking on muscular legs, and whose unflinching gaze was made even more potent by the dusting of experienced silver in his luxurious dark hair. Yet, as she felt Mrs. Kloughn’s hand on her shoulder, Stephanie decided she liked the idea. Her young man, Ranger, coming for a holiday dinner with the whole family. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She reached up and clasped Mrs. Kloughn’s hand in hers. Soft and warm, it was a Pillsbury Dough reminder of the woman’s fundamental kindness. So like her son Albert, who Stephanie had assumed was weak when she’d first met him. But the Kloughns, especially Albert’s mother, had taught her that generosity could be its own form of strength. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mrs. Kloughn gently pulled Stephanie around to face her. “I remember all the good things Albert told us about your Ranger.” The older woman nodded. “And I saw for myself when he was here around Halloween.” She paused. “You know, that man’s eyes gleamed when your name was mentioned, Stephie. The way I see it, he told you he’d be here today, no matter what,” her soft voice asserted. “And I think he’s a man who keeps his promises.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” she acknowledged the older woman’s reassurance. “He was delayed in D.C., but you’re right, he prides himself on keeping his promises,” she affirmed, both to Mrs. Kloughn and to herself. And he </span>
  <em>
    <span>had</span>
  </em>
  <span> promised, just a few days ago on the phone. He’d admitted that he still had work to do, and had a few things to handle on Thanksgiving morning itself. So he wouldn’t arrive until later. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, the good news was that enough details were wrapped up and the right people had been apprehended so he could take a short break. She’d even seen some of the arrests on the news, though obviously most of the details were obscured. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was proud of Ranger. She was confident of him. But still… she shied away from the thought, but he had disappeared from his life for seven years and she hadn’t known until he was gone. Stephanie nibbled her lip. “I was just hoping he’d be here by now,” Stephanie finally confessed. She felt oddly like she should mulishly stomp one of her feet, a bit like Lisa, under Mrs. Kloughn’s ever-watchful gaze. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Squeezing her shoulder, Mrs. Kloughn smiled “You young people, you’re so impatient. I remember when I was your age. Goodness, calling long distance cost so much back then. When Saul was away in the Army for over four years, I had to wait for postcards. Do you even remember postcards? Or standing by the door for the postman to deliver the mail?” She asked, and then continued without a pause. “And then one day Saul would show up, all crisp in his uniform, pushing the buzzer downstairs, just like he’d promised.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She paused; the smile on her usually demure face bordered on mischievous. “You know,” the older woman leaned in to confide, “I still lived here with my parents.” With a coy, sidelong glance, she added, “The pantry isn’t here anymore since the last renovation, but that’s where we had to hide for our little smooches.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She smiled at Stephanie’s astonished gaze. “Don’t worry Stephie,” she murmured. “We all find the ones who complete us in our own time. And a big strong man like your Ranger….  the way he jumped to do favors for your daughters when he was here. It was just what a man in love would do. So, don’t worry, honey. He’ll be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie felt a blush creep up her face as Mrs. Kloughn released her. It was no mystery how the unassuming older woman had been successful all those years as a counselor. She was certainly always able to read Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She took a deep breath and it finally hit her: old insecurities had been raising their head. She’d been mentally preparing herself for Ranger to not appear, assuming that his comments about having work to finish were an excuse. A first step on the ladder of silently walking out of her life. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Because who says they’ll be late because they have work on Thanksgiving?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Seeing the bowls, spoons, and other cooking paraphernalia piled on the counter, Stephanie started filling the sink with sudsy water. As she washed and rinsed a stoneware baking dish, her mind traveled back to the times she’d brought Ranger a casserole of holiday leftovers in the Rangeman control room. Almost always, he’d stay behind to let his staff take holidays off. It was the type of man he was. As he’d joked with her, bad guys didn’t take holidays so Rangeman couldn’t either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So, she decided to let her sensible brain be in charge and to assume that Ranger might actually have work today. After all, it was important that he take all the time he needed to wrap up the conspiracy he’d uncovered while chasing his target, Figueroa, the man who’d abducted his own children.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching for a set of mixing spoons, Stephanie’s eyes narrowed thinking of Figueroa. A man who would kidnap his own children to… what? Drag them from state to state, with strangers to babysit them in chilly apartments with little more than junk food to eat? All so he’d have family with him while he bought weapons and killed people in cold blood.   </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She shook her head balefully. But then, she was buoyed by the knowledge that Figueroa would be tried for abducting his sons, among several more ominous changes, all based on Ranger’s investigative work. She nodded to herself, recalling Ranger’s description of how the man had quickly confessed enough so that the hearing next week on whether to try Ranger for the shooting in Dorchester earlier this month would be, in his words, simply a formality. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>His lawyer, who Ranger had employed since his Rangeman days, apparently seconded that opinion. They had Figueroa’s assertion that his colleague Krc, with his identifying scar, was the shooter and that Ranger wasn’t involved. And, the Boston PD had a witness who’d seen someone matching Krc near the scene of the shooting, driving the car in which they’d found Ranger. After Figueroa had been arrested, they’d even managed to find a witness in Allston who’d seen Ranger being knocked unconscious, and who’d heard one of the men say that they were going to drop him in a car so the cops would find him there.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Well, Stephanie had cleared her schedule, anyway, so she could attend the hearing with Ranger. Stephanie smiled righteously as she absent-mindedly scrubbed the smaller of two saucepans. Of course Ranger was innocent. The frame job and subsequent arrest had always been a setup to keep Ranger from being able to pursue Figueroa and his even more dangerous cohorts. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But, sobering thought, Stephanie didn’t know what she would’ve done if Ranger hadn’t been able to track down the conspirators. If he’d had to appear in court and possibly be sentenced for a crime he didn’t commit. Or, even more likely, if he’d needed to go on the run to avoid the whole trial and sentencing process. Having just found him, what if she’d lost him again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She rinsed the second saucepan, the last of the dirty dishes, and turned off the water. Standing in place, she contemplated the ice that glazed a delicate white border around the edges of the window above the sink. With her finger, she followed the outline along the lower edge, feeling the frosty, dry shavings of ice soften under her finger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She imagined that it was a window in a cabin, hidden in the crisp, winter woods of an untracked wilderness. It was a wintery hideout she'd first started picturing years ago, when she'd finally realized what he'd meant by "being in the wind." Logs and stone, a wood stove for heat, an old-fashioned shortwave radio like the one her grandfather Mazur had for listening to Hungarian news and music programs, shelves of canned food, and some vaguely imagined oil or solar generator for lights and cooking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Would she have followed Ranger to that cabin, if he hadn’t been able to find the evidence needed to overturn his arrest? Would she have gone on the run, also, surviving on venison and berries, clothed in second-hand flannel? Together, their resilience and passion overcoming the cold? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The steady sound from overhead and the bursts of laughter from the living room made her very glad she wouldn’t need to face that situation any time soon. Because, while romantically she could picture herself in that isolated cabin of her imagination— the love shack on the run— she  would never willingly leave her daughters. They were her life now; they were her family. The days of “have hamster, will travel” were over.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And she had hope. Ranger’s comments over the past few weeks hinted that he also was ready to leave behind a life that might lead to that lonely cabin in the woods. In more than one conversation he’d loosely outlined a plan to start a private investigative business with his service area including Boston. Being Stephanie Plum, of course she’d encouraged that plan. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Reaching out for the dishtowel, she chuckled slightly. Apparently her friend Gerry, who Ranger had successfully hired a few weeks ago when he was in Boston, had the same hope. In fact, Gerry had become Stephanie’s new phone buddy. He was like co-chairman of Boston’s chapter of the Ranger fan club. Along with Mary Alice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Along with Stephanie.</span>
</p><p><span>Putting the dried pans away, she reflected</span> <span>that Ranger probably wasn’t even aware of all the fan clubs that had followed him over his lifetime. It showed in the loyalty of his men, the women who walked into walls wherever he went, Albert Kloughn half in love with him… It had reached back at least to the knot of girls cheering him in the DVD Ranger had sent last week, as promised, with highlights from a high-school soccer championship game. </span></p><p>
  <span>And it was easy to see why that knot of girls had been cheering. Mary Alice had squealed when she spotted Ranger on the field in the game footage, his electric smile lighting up his slim, teenaged face as he eluded two opposing players and scored a goal against all odds. Stephanie had found herself clutching her hands to her heart, smiling with tears in her eyes as she watched the joy evident on Ranger’s youthful face. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she’d watched his young, athletic self clearly reveling in motion, delighting in the game, she wished with her heart that she’d been in the stands at the moment when his team came together at the end, high-fiving and standing arm-in-arm as comrades together. Ranger’s brash, delighted smile captured in that moment was a thing of beauty; the claim of a boy ready to take the power of being a man. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But then, suddenly Stephanie had found herself irrationally </span>
  <em>
    <span>jealous</span>
  </em>
  <span> of the girls in the stands who’d known him then. With a green eyed, Joyce Bernhardt level of ire. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So thank heavens for Mary Lou, who’d immediately understood. Undaunted by the late hour of the call, her bestie had persuaded Stephanie that her heated emotions were basically proof that she was human, female, and had a pulse. And that, since her heart had obviously chosen Ranger as hers, she'd better make sure that her words did sometime soon, as well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie thought she’d been doing exactly that, but Mary Lou said it was important to repeat the message. Because, as she’d reminded on the phone, women were mysterious by nature and men were easily confused. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted. Ranger was never confused. He was simply all-the-way male. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She could see that Mrs. Kloughn had the last reheating tasks well in hand. So, Stephanie wandered out to the dining room to see if everything was ready for dinner. Mostly it was a distraction: Angie and Mary Alice had set the table over an hour ago, and she’d inspected it at least twice already. The flowery Plum china was arranged in place settings, with the occasional chips and worn edges to testify to years of family use. The silverware and glasses from Stephanie’s childhood were set out in a warm, inviting spread. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A momentary chill drifted through the room and Stephanie stopped, her imagination serving up a ghostly image of her mother, sister, and grandmother sitting at the table. Her mother inspecting the silver for tarnish and commenting on the bent tines on some of the forks. Her sister Valerie primping her hair while enthusing about Albert, her Cuddle Umpkins. And finally, Grandma Mazur checking the somewhat worse-for-wear Waterford holiday glasses to see if her daughter Helen had added vodka to the orange juice yet. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Of course, at this moment it was just Mrs. Kloughn opening the kitchen’s back door to set the recycling outside. Nevertheless, Stephanie breathed a greeting to her spectral family members as she paused, seeing Thanksgivings of her youth superimposed on this room. She wondered if Grandma Mazur had seen her forebears present during holidays, sensing family stretching back generation after generation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Knowing her grandmother, it was definitely possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>A burst of sound from upstairs distracted Stephanie from her thoughts. Music combined with Lisa’s voice, Mary Alice’s laughter, and Angie’s answering objections. Footsteps and more shouts sounded from above. Then, wondering where the rest of her family was, Stephanie drifted to the door to the living room. Where she found Saul Kloughn engrossed in the football game, his cane leaning in the crook of the sofa. Sarah was seated with him, asking questions. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie giggled under her breath. Her youngest daughter was infinitely curious. Football, monster trucks, competitive cup stacking… it didn’t seem to matter. Happily, Mr. Kloughn was more patient with Sarah’s bottomless well of curiosity than Stephanie’s father had been with her own. Possibly Sarah wouldn’t spend as much of her childhood making stuff up, as a result. Still smiling, Stephanie concluded that her girl would just be creative in her own, unique way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she turned back to the kitchen, she heard clattering from downstairs— the front door opening, boots stomping off snow in the first floor entry foyer. She paused, but then heard multiple voices echoing up the stairwell. Probably another of Mrs. Arshad’s sons arriving with his family. But then, her brow wrinkled as she heard footsteps starting up the stairwell. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Stephanie paused at the sudden tingle she felt running down her spine, Sarah bounded up from the sofa and headed to the foyer. Just as the first knock sounded against the wood, Sarah opened the door. “Mom,” she called out in a breathy voice. “Look who’s here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And then, gazing back from the dining room, all Stephanie could see was the man in her entryway. Solid, handsome, graceful, with the hint of a five o’clock shadow along his jaw that reflected light flecks of silver in the overhead light. But then, as he turned toward her, he was the same virile man she’d seen so many years ago in a Trenton diner. His gaze was knowing and assured, his smile was slow and full, like a moment of joy being discovered as she stood there. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rick,” she exhaled, stepping forward. “You made it.” She felt her own smile bloom. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Wouldn’t miss this for anything, Babe,” he replied in his low voice as he removed his gloves and put them in his pockets. He started to turn back toward the door but then Sarah inserted her small hand into his. Looking obliquely at Stephanie’s daughter, his lips tilted in in a quizzical smile. “Well, hello,” he said softly, his momentum arrested by the small, tousle-haired figure in front of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hi,” Sarah replied with a knowing nod. “See, I was right.” She glanced over at Stephanie, as though confirming a long-standing point, then back to Ranger. “I knew Saint Martin would bring you back home.” She stepped back, which Ranger apparently took as a hint to remove her medallion and return it. He reached for the chain at the back of his neck and started to pull it up from under his sweater. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At which point Sarah reached up to tug his coat. “Oh, not yet,” she said quietly, her face earnest. “Saint Martin wants to stay with you for a while longer.” Then, with an enigmatic smile still on her small, heart shaped face, her daughter pulled on Ranger’s coat again, as though guiding him closer for a secret. “Grandpa Kloughn says there’s no magic unless God makes it happen, but people have to be ready to see it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie enjoyed the vague, perplexed look on Ranger’s face as Sarah released his coat and turned back toward her mother. Her wide, hazel eyes gleamed knowingly, leaving Stephanie to wonder what her youngest girl was thinking.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Meanwhile, having heard his name, Mr. Kloughn looked over, his hand hovering over his cane. “Ah, you must be Ranger,” he said. “I’m Saul Kloughn. It’s good to finally meet you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Good to meet you too, sir,” Ranger nodded.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>As Ranger started forward, Saul waved his free hand. “Ah, stay put. Get comfortable. Take off your coat for God’s sake. I still have a brace on my knee, so I’m not going anywhere. We can shake hands whenever you come sit down to watch the game.” He barked a quick laugh. “Which you have to do, since you’ve just doubled the male representation at today’s event. Not even Frank Plum managed to make it this year.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie rolled her eyes as she registered Ranger’s low chuckle. And she exhaled quietly, glad that Mr. Kloughn hadn’t named any of the other men who’d been here for holidays in the past, whether coworkers, her neighbor Darius, or her former boyfriend Brian. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She was about to explain, yet again, why it was actually a positive development that her father was in Trenton with his family for the holiday this year along with his new honey, Ellie Cranshaw. Then, in a moment that was pure “home with the Plums,” a Nerf football sailed down the stairwell, followed by Mary Alice. As the football bounced off the back of the sofa and into a bowl of chips, Mary Alice exclaimed, “Whoa, Ranger you made it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She stopped on the final stairstep, smiling. “Welcome back,” she said, raising her arms in something between an air hug and a moment of victory. She completely ignored the blue Nerf ball that her Grandfather Kloughn lobbed back toward her with an amused look as he dusted chips off the sofa. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lisa clomped down the stairs after Mary Alice and, as she reached down to snare the blue foam football, the smaller girl was briefly ensnared in her sister’s arms. “Mister Ranger, Mister Ranger,” Lisa enthused, wriggling free from Mary Alice’s grasp.  Reminding Stephanie slightly of the starfish in SpongeBob, with arms outstretched in her green and pink velvet smock, Nerf football in hand, Lisa ran in stocking feet until she bounced into Ranger’s legs. Stephanie tried to hold back her laughter at his newly befuddled expression when Lisa enveloped his middle in an enthusiastic hug. “Mister Ranger, you’re here.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh my God. Really?” A low, feminine voice interrupted with amusement from the landing behind him. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mister</span>
  </em>
  <span> Ranger? Do you live in, like, Jellystone Park?” As she spoke, a tall girl moved into the doorway, lithe and stylish in her camel coat and matching knit hat. “I’ll tell you right now that I totally refuse to be any Yogi Bear characters.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Even if she’d never met her before, Stephanie would know she was looking at Ranger’s daughter. She had the same proud stance, dark hair, and fierce eyes. The assurance in her glance was patented Ranger, yet she was still young. It was clear that she knew how to be an outsider; her sophisticated toughness was not enough to fully disguise her wariness.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>With an almost courtly pivot, Ranger extricated himself from Lisa’s grasp, turned, and lifted his daughter’s still-gloved hand. As he gently led his daughter to stand beside him, he said, “Stephanie, I know it’s been a while. So I’m pleased to reintroduce you to Julie, my daughter. At the last minute, she was able to get away from college to join me for the weekend.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Julie,” Stephanie blinked quickly as she felt emotion welling behind her eyes. “It’s been so long, but I’ve never forgotten you.” While speaking, she had walked toward the watchful girl. As she reached Ranger, she lightly bapped his arm. “But your father doesn’t realize that </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> might not remember me.” She smiled as Ranger shrugged and then released Julie’s hand gracefully. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I remember,” Julie answered, her voice breathy, as though the brave, frightened little girl who’d first met Stephanie a decade ago was momentarily hovering just under her skin. “I kinda remember everyone I met back then.” She said calmly, her face angled downward though her eyes remained on Stephanie. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh sweetie,” Stephanie said as moved closer, yet again, and opened her arms. “Well, think of this as a new beginning. Welcome. I’m so glad to see you. Having you here with your father makes this the perfect holiday.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Julie swallowed. “Um, thanks for inviting us. It’s good to be here.” She darted a glance at her father, who now had an awkward armful of Mary Alice, elbows and all. Which was all that was needed, apparently, for Julie to reach toward Stephanie. Her hug was quick, a bit stiff, but Stephanie felt the squeeze in Julie’s arms that made it real. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Backing up, her gloved hands lacing together, Julie looked down. “Ranger, I mean... my </span>
  <em>
    <span>father</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she began haltingly, “well he told me he spent some time here recently. That you’d invited us for Thanksgiving.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He did, and we absolutely did invite you,” Stephanie confirmed. “I think I reminded your father every time we spoke on the phone, which he’s smartly assured me was nothing like being nagged.” She noticed a twitch of humor in Julie’s lips, so she continued. “And I know that Mary Alice, there, had her own separate campaign going on, probably with emails and illustrations showing the benefits of inviting you for the holidays.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She touched Julie’s still clasped hands, cradling her grasp loosely over the smooth cashmere of Julie’s tense fingers. “The point being that we are delighted that you’re here, and that can spend Thanksgiving with our family.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Thanks,” Julie replied with a shy smile. “I didn’t quite know what to expect, but it’s nice to be here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie pulled her hand back, surreptitiously wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. Then, realizing that her family had mobbed Ranger and Julie in the doorway, she reached out and cleared space on the coat hooks. “Let me take your coat so you can come in, meet everyone else, and make yourself at home.” As Julie began unbuttoning her coat, Stephanie heard an additional set of footsteps running down the stairs.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hey M.A.,” Angie’s voice preceded her, calling out to Mary Alice by her initials. “If you’re going to make me play catch, you need to bring back the puffy blue football and, like, someone else to throw it to.” Then, as she planted at the foot of the stairs with her arms on her hips, she stopped. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “You were right. Ranger got here in time for dinner.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m always right,” Mary Alice said with mock asperity as she looked back at her sister. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah,” Angie tossed her head. “Except, like, all the times when you’re not.” Then, straightening into a vision of her mother Valerie, Angie turned her attention to Ranger. Walking over with her hand outstretched, she said, “Hi, I’m Angie. We met you in Trenton. Except we were more fun-sized then, like Lisa.” She tilted her head at her younger sister, who was still hovering next to Ranger. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remember you, Angie,” he answered, taking her hand in his. “It’s a pleasure. Though you may not have met my daughter Julie,” he nodded toward his slim, dark-haired progeny who was in the midst of tucking her hat and gloves into her coat pocket. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mary Alice, standing on the other side of Ranger, shook her head, looking skyward. Turning impishly toward Julie, she grinned. “Hi, welcome to Casa Plum, where the good times never end. I’m Mary Alice, the </span>
  <em>
    <span>cool</span>
  </em>
  <span> sister.” She looked around for Stephanie. “Hey Mom, are Ranger and Julie staying for the holiday? Can Julie crash upstairs with us?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We’ll see, sweetie,” Stephanie answered, hoping that a Mañoso family sleepover was indeed in the plans for the weekend. While her mind sparked at the possibilities, having both Ranger and Julie here for an extended weekend, she rested her hand on Mary Alice’s shoulder. “For now, why don’t we let Julie and Ranger finish taking off their coats and come inside?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“That was the practical ‘mom’ voice,” Mary Alice leaned toward Julie. “We’d better listen,” she glanced sideways at Stephanie with overly innocent eyes. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh yeah, like you always do,” Angie snorted with a dramatic hair flip as she approached. “And by the way, I’m Angie the </span>
  <em>
    <span>actual</span>
  </em>
  <span> cool sister. You’ve already met my understudy, here.” She softened her words with a wink as she wound her arm around Mary Alice’s waist. “Next in line,” she reached out her other arm, “is Lisa, proud carrier of the Nerf football for Team Plum.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She gestured toward the sofa. “Over there is Sarah, who’s often the only one who actually knows what’s going on. And that’s Grandpa Kloughn, who’ll pay us all a lot more attention during halftime, though that’s honestly the only part of football on TV that’s worth watching.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Suppressing a chuckle, Stephanie backed away from the action in the doorway, leaving her daughters to help Julie with her coat and boots. Because, over her shoulder, all she could feel was Ranger like effervescence fizzing along her soul.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Drawn without thought, she launched into Ranger’s open arms, inhaling him. Still no Bvlgari; instead his scent had migrated to something between citrus and sandalwood, with the essence of Ranger at its base. It was heavenly and she took another sniff while her face was still nestled against his chest. “I’m so very glad you’re here,” she mumbled into his half-opened parka. “I’d let you remove your coat, but I’d have to let you go.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So that’s a </span>
  <em>
    <span>no</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” Ranger rumbled, his arms tightening around her. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“More like a </span>
  <em>
    <span>later</span>
  </em>
  <span>,” she replied. “I was starting to worry that you weren’t going to come.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He rocked her slightly in his arms. “I keep my promises, Steph. You know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah I do,” she smiled, leaning back slightly to meet his gaze. “Thanks for bringing Julie, too. Can she stay all weekend?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Through Sunday morning,” he answered quietly, releasing one hand to brush it along the hair by Stephanie’s ear. “Her flight is mid-day, since school starts back up on Monday.” He tilted his head, seeming to contemplate a lock of hair that he’d started twirling around his finger. “I can stay through next weekend, though, if you’ll have me, before I need to head back to D.C.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes please,” Stephanie answered with what she suspected was a goofy grin. But then Ranger’s answering smile could’ve lit the room around her. Perhaps it could even be seen it from outer space, like a beacon broadcasting Stephanie’s delight. With a make-believe sigh, she released her arms. “So if you’re going to stay that long, probably I should let you take off your coat.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t want to be hasty, but it seems sensible,” he answered with a chuckle. He stepped to the coat hooks by the door, now accessible since Stephanie’s daughters had led Julie into the livingroom. “After dinner, though, I’ll need to go back outside to grab our luggage from my truck.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What, you were making sure you were welcome to stay, first?” Stephanie put her hands on her hips. “You and your utility belt used to break into my apartment like a ninja whenever you wanted. Now you leave your luggage outside until you get a formal invitation?” Had she hallucinated those discussions of him coming to stay over the long weekend?  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Old habits, Babe,” He looked over with a wry flex of his eyebrow. “And you’ll recall that I typically left my stuff in my truck, outside in your parking lot, even back then. Anyhow, I thought you’d be impressed that I actually have luggage, not just my tactical rucksack.” He shrugged. “Julie is trying to teach me how normal people visit family and friends.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie laughed. “Let me know how that works out. In the meantime,” she added as she reached around Ranger for her parka, “let’s go get your luggage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger tipped his head as he refastened his coat. “Julie told me that you’d say that.” He shrugged. “I guess I owe her five dollars.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Tugging on the zipper of her first boot, Stephanie slanted her gaze up to Ranger. “Just consider it a supplement to Julie’s training on how normal people visit. You bring in your luggage right away, claiming your territory. Then you eat enough that you don’t feel like doing anything else, like dodging outside for extended periods while everyone else is hanging out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger chuckled quietly as he slipped his hand under Stephanie’s elbow, supporting her as she stood back up, stomping her boots to fully seat her feet while she reached for her keys. Amused, Stephanie debated reassuring Ranger that it had been a couple of years since she’d fallen headlong through the doorway in her haste to pull together her outdoor clothing, but decided to save that tidbit for a different moment. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As they reached the downstairs landing, she turned to Ranger. “You know, if you do need to get away from the hubbub sometimes, it’s fine to just wander off.” As they stepped out into the darkening opal light of the wintery late afternoon, she elaborated. “I mean, you can go outside if you want to clear your sinuses in the cold, like right now, or even back to one of our rooms and close the door for a while. You don’t have to make up luggage emergencies. I’ll understand. After all, I grew up in Plum family pandemonium, but even I sometimes need a time out.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger reached out and pulled her shoulders in a loose hug. “Not a problem, Steph. I stayed at your place for a whole week, not so long ago, remember?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I know, but we’re all home together for a few days, without breaks for work or school, so it could be a bit more… mmm... intense.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She nudged him with her elbow. “Besides, now you’ll know what’s going on if I disappear for a half hour after feigning a phone call or describing something vague and perplexing that I really have to do right now.” As she spoke, she rubbed her hands together, and then stuffed them in her pockets. Next time she vowed to check that her gloves were in her pockets before she ventured out of the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She felt Ranger’s quiet laughter through their coats. Looking around, she didn’t see Ranger’s truck. But then she remembered that he tended to park a block or so away. Something to work on. So, she followed him down to the sidewalk. The squeaky crunch of their boots marked patches of unshoveled snow as they walked down the sidewalk. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Cold and quiet wreathed them. Warm light beckoned from doorways along the street. Finally, as they approached the end of her street with no signs of Ranger’s vehicle, she looked sideways at Ranger. “Sheesh, where did you leave your truck? Did you stash it in boat house in the park?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She saw his exhale, an amused, crystalline puff in the chill air. “It’s just a block over. Street parking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well, I guess I’m glad you didn’t make Julie carry her luggage all this way. But Rick, just so you know, you can park in my driveway. That’s what we use it for. You know: cars, parking.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As she squinted at him, he shrugged, “Old habits Babe, remember?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They turned the corner and continued walking along the partly shoveled walkway. A pearly, pink glow hovered along the brightness rimming the western horizon as the sky tipped toward evening darkness. Stephanie mumbled, “You better really have luggage and not rucksacks. I’m starting to think this is like one of those marches you used to try to con me into doing, back when you first met me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In the dimming light, she saw a familiar, speculative look on his face. “Oh no, mister,” she said, reaching over to poke his arm. “Tonight we’re making a new habit and driving back to the house. And parking there. At least to unload your luggage.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>She heard him chuckle. Then, after an extended pause while Stephanie assumed Ranger was contemplating the intricate pros and cons of her cunning new plan, he nodded. “Good idea,” he said, his lips relaxing into a smile. He reached out to lead her down a short alleyway, where a dark, hulking truck was parked along the street, surrounded by smaller, snow-mounded cars.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It looked, for all the world, like the picture Mary Lou had sent her of the big mountain dog that her husband Lenny had rescued, as it sat hunched hopefully between their two little white terriers. Stephanie started to giggle. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, okay,” Ranger’s voice echoed her humor. “It seemed like better camouflage at the time. But, you can see why I’m concerned that my truck would stand out if I parked at your house.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rick,” she sighed as he opened the passenger door. “First, I bet these aren’t your real license plates, so nobody would guess it’s you anyway.” She glanced sideways at Ranger, whose emphatically noncommittal expression confirmed her suspicion. Sliding in the seat, she added, “Second, you saw my street. Half the houses have panel trucks or big SUVs parked in the driveway, or on the curb. The only way your truck will stand out is that it’s dent free.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She snorted. “Drive a few more times on the Jamaica Way and we can take care of that problem for you.” She glanced again at Ranger, who had the raised-eyebrow expression that she imagined was his equivalent of genteel horror. She chuckled quietly as he closed her door, walked around, and then entered the driver’s side. Taking pity, she reached out her hand and lightly touched his wrist as he reached for the ignition. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Seriously though,” she said, turning to face him. “My home is your home. I want you to be comfortable there. As for me, I know you take a lot of precautions. And you’ve told me that you and the Homeland guys have detained the people who were involved in that conspiracy you’ve been wrapping up.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>She leaned closer and raised her hand to his face, unconsciously brushing back some hair from along his temple. “I feel safe where you are, regardless of where you park your car.” Lightening the moment, she added, “Or wherever you ‘pahk ya cah,’ as they say around here.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Ranger laughed gently, raising his gloved hand to her still chilly fingers. Moving his keys out of the way in some quick, dexterous move that Stephanie couldn’t follow, he caught her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief, gentle kiss. It was like a cloud of snowflake-sized fairies brushing ice and fire in tiny strokes along her skin and into her bones. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>With a smile that fairly gleamed in the light of the sole streetlight above them, he murmured, “Next time we go shopping, I’ll buy </span>
  <em>
    <span>you</span>
  </em>
  <span> a pair of warm gloves.” Then, releasing her hand, he started the ignition. “So, let’s go back home, park nearby the way normal people do, and wrangle Julie’s and my luggage inside.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Stephanie felt her breath catch. Already feeling giddy from his soft, warm kiss along the back of her hand, she realized that he’d said they were going back </span>
  <em>
    <span>home</span>
  </em>
  <span>. To her house. Where she wanted him to be. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>At the moment, Stephanie suspected that the light of her of her expression rivaled even the most electric of Ranger’s smiles.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To be continued...</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0039"><h2>39. Keeping It Real</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Story disclaimers and background can be found at the start of Chapter 1.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <b>Chapter 39: Keeping It Real</b>
</p><p>Much later… several hours later... in the hushed velvet of nighttime, Stephanie felt the comforting weight of Ranger’s arm come around her. She snuggled closer into his strong embrace, reveling in the firm warmth of his body all along hers, skin sated and lightly drizzled with perspiration. </p><p>“You know,” she murmured lazily, “Julie is probably going to suspect that her very serious father got up to some hanky panky tonight.” </p><p>His quiet chuckle rumbled against her. “I imagine Mary Alice and Angie might have similar thoughts about their mother,” he answered as he pressed his lips to the top of her head. </p><p>“Yeah, no kidding,” Stephanie’s voice burbled with a sleepy laugh. “Probably they’re the ones telling Julie, right now. Girl sleepovers should totally be outlawed.” Stephanie snorted. “Be prepared for mega teasing tomorrow morning.” </p><p>“It’s a small price to pay, Babe,” Ranger’s low voice caressed along her brow, his breath the echo of seduction. Stephanie wondered, not for the first time, how she had ever been able to resist him in the past, during the times when she actually had. She didn’t know why that fundamental attraction had been so hard to accept when she’d been younger. But then, saying a mental apology to Joe, she hadn’t known her own mind then. Not like she did now.</p><p>“Rick,” she half-whispered his name, still relishing the special newness of it. Of course, he was also still Ranger, in her mind, when she thought about him as the man who strapped on two guns and a knife to face the dangers of his world and looked to right injustice. He was Ranger when she thought about him in Trenton. He was Ranger as he worked with Homeland to quell a conspiracy whose danger was clear yet whose scope she still did not understand. </p><p>Yet now <em> Rick </em> was the name her mind chose when she thought of the man who was next to her tonight. The man who had taken to calling her in the evening since his last visit, speaking in his rumbling voice, talking about his day, making her laugh, making her dream. The man who she’d idealized into a superhero in her younger days, but who’d turned out to be more interesting as a complex, matured friend and lover. The man who her daughters had greeted with unfeigned pleasure earlier today. </p><p><em> Rick </em> was now the sum of all he was in her mind, from boyhood, through his prowess on the soccer fields in high school, through the military, and into her life. <em> Ranger </em> was merely who she shared with those who didn’t know him as well. <em> Rick </em>, in all his totality, had become the man she wanted to be with. </p><p>Her finger started tracing patterns along his upper arm and shoulder. The uninjured one, she thought with a brief shiver. She’d felt that fresh scar on his other shoulder as they’d made love; and love it had been. She’d felt it welling from him, even as her own pulse beat warmly with it. </p><p>She’d avoided comment at the newly puckered skin. After all, he’d told her about the wound he’d received capturing Figueroa. He’d told her so much, as much as he could, in his calls over the past couple of weeks since he’d left. But now, in her bed, the memory of that new scar under her fingers was unnerving. Like another loss, barely dodged. A reminder of the life he’d been leading.</p><p>“Rick,” she repeated, her voice still warm, and as slow as the weaving movement of her fingertips along his skin. “You’re here now, with no little ears listening, and no Big Brother, either. Tell me how you’re really doing. Are you getting close to unraveling everything?”  </p><p>He was silent. His hand reached up; his fingers threaded lightly into her hair, gently brushing the heat of her moist curls back from her face. Finally he spoke. “It was bad business, Babe. Very bad.” His voice was slow, meshed with the gentle furls of his fingers through her hair. “There’s a lot I can’t tell you,” he exhaled. “But it’s the type of thing I fear. Where someone inside, someone who’s supposed to defend us and who knows our vulnerabilities, decides to take matters into his own hands.” </p><p>He stopped speaking and Stephanie could hear his measured breathing. She rested next to him in the quiet while she continued the slow passage of her fingers along his skin, memorizing his shoulder, drifting down his collarbone until she reached the resilient hair in the vee between his pecs, and finally landing on the firm muscles that protected his heart. His chest moved with each inhale, a strong and quiet rhythm. </p><p>“Do you think you’ve found what you needed, yet?” she asked. She didn’t bother to ask if she could help; he’d already assured her that he’d let her know if she could. Additionally, over the past week or so he’d been increasingly clear that the danger he was investigating was profound and delicate, and that the resources he needed were behind the governmental firewall at this point. Proudly, she knew he was trusting her to stay apart from his investigation.</p><p>His voice was quiet, but not sleepy. “With this type of operation it can be hard to say. Finding the cells you uncover doesn’t always mean you’ve rooted them all out. But I’m confident that we’ve found all the ones that were ready or set in motion.” </p><p>He was silent a moment but Stephanie could tell he wasn’t finished. “It was designed to look like a foreign operation, Steph. Operational groups of men with paperwork that probably wouldn't withstand scrutiny, who may have criminal backgrounds from troubled countries. Men whose mug shots would fit into people’s assumptions about how foreign enemies look.” </p><p>His cheeks hollowed as he pursed his lips. “At a minimum, they’d planned disruption and probably synchronized explosions at soft targets. And if we hadn’t found them, I think their plans would’ve succeeded. They would’ve probably killed people; definitely would’ve scared them.” His face hardened; an expression set in unyielding stone. “And scared people are easily led into bad decisions. It’s a well-known playbook.” His voice lowered. “It’s one I know inside and out.” </p><p>As he spoke, Stephanie caught a glimpse of the hard man she’d seen when she’d first gone to meet him in the Mattapan/Dorchester station lock-up at the beginning of the month. Of course she’d long known that this tough, shuttered man-at-arms was part of the Ranger she’d come to know. In her mind’s eye she saw the image her friend ’Fredo’s abuelita had described: a lonely warrior trapped behind his own high walls. </p><p>Stephanie leaned her body more fully against him, her softness along his hard lines, as a reminder that she was with him. It might take him a while to unlearn the habits of being a lone defender. But she’d resolved that it was worth trying. That <em> he </em> was worth it. That what they could build together was more than worth it. </p><p>“You know,” his deep voice slid under her thoughts. “Steph, you were the light on my road.” He remained rigid as he spoke. “Or maybe you’d say that you showed me the light at the end of the tunnel. In any case,” he paused. “You helped me see my way forward.” He shook his head. Quietly, almost to himself, he added, “I’m just bone-tired of this kind of shit.”</p><p>“Rick,” she said in a warm, half-whisper. “What matters is that you succeeded. You and the people you pulled together unraveled the plot. You showed them how. And before anything really bad happened, you helped them catch that Whelan guy who’d been orchestrating the whole thing. One bad person set something in motion, and a lot of good people, including you, made it right again.” Stephanie reassured with a brief touch of her lips to his shoulder.  </p><p>“You’re right,” he agreed quietly after a moment’s pause. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head, he continued, “We trapped Whelan a few days after I left here.” He shifted slightly and Stephanie detected his changing mood. With a softening around his eyes and a wry up-tick of his lips, he added, “In fact, we took him into custody on Saint Martin’s Day, which is a coincidence I don’t know how to explain so I’ve decided to simply roll with it.”</p><p>Stephanie lightly poked Ranger’s arm. “Just remember that important lesson, mister. Always trust Plum-Mazur intuition.” </p><p>She saw his lips tilt upward into a genuine smile. “Yes ma’am, duly noted,” he replied, turning with a kiss that lingered along her hairline where her head nestled against his arm. After a moment’s quiet, Ranger shifted again. “I’ve learned a few things on this gig,” he said, gazing into the distance.</p><p>“Like what,” Stephanie finally asked. She felt rather than heard his slow, measured exhale. </p><p>“Like I should use the phone sometimes and stay in touch with people,” he reached over and tapped her nose. His lips pressed together thoughtfully. “This job wasn’t what I expected when it started. Working it by myself was a mistake, even though I had good reasons. But you’re right; I had help along the way. And that was the biggest surprise to me.”</p><p>He turned toward her, the deep brown of his eyes expressive despite the dark. “I’m used to finding contacts along the way and working with them. But this time was different. I needed to get help from people I could already trust, people with agency access but who would be less likely to be traced to me. So I had to reach out to some people who I hadn’t spoken to in years.” A line appeared between his brows. “I called out of the blue, and they helped me as though time hadn’t passed at all.”</p><p>He pressed the pad of his index finger gently across the front of her lips, guessing correctly that she was about to speak. “Wait Steph,” he murmured. “The thing is, I wasn’t aware that I’d let so many people go by the wayside. It’s a bit humbling.” He paused, thoughts stirring behind his eyes as though he was still trying to make sense of them. “To be honest,” he finally continued, “it was a wakeup call. That gradual isolation, the tendency to take risks and work alone… I’ve seen guys go down that path before and vowed I wouldn’t be one of them. Yet there I was.” </p><p>Her fingers traced along the tattoo on his chest as he spoke. She remembered him saying that it was a sign of a man who protected his people. Which made her think of Sarah’s medal, which was currently on her night table, along with his watch. She smiled at the thought that her youngest daughter had decided to protect <em> him </em>, in her own way. With a medal to remind him of his own inherent goodness, and to bring him home. </p><p><em> Yup, be sure to trust that Plum-Mazur intuition </em>, she nodded to herself. </p><p>She leaned a bit to catch his eyes, which had wandered to follow the course of his finger from her lips to where it was now entwined within a curl of her hair. “I think,” she began as she pulled her thoughts into words. “Maybe you got too used to feeling that you had to take care of everyone else.” She nibbled her lip. “You forgot that other people might be there to protect or help <em> you </em>. And that letting other people behind your walls was okay.”</p><p>He blinked, his face overtaken by a vaguely puzzled, thoughtful look. And then his expression softened. “I’d forgotten that you were always behind those walls from the very first time we met. I never knew how that happened.” He tugged on the lock of hair he had captured. “That was the biggest surprise of this job: I didn’t expect to find you. Or for you to help me the way you did.” He tipped his head. “I left a lot on the table, back when I left Trenton,” he murmured. </p><p>She observed his face as he gazed toward the ceiling, seeing hints of sorrow mixed with acceptance and something like annoyance or anger. But it was subtle; years ago she probably wouldn’t have seen the interplay between the momentary tightening of muscles around his lips, the furling of his nostrils, and the ironic tilt of his eyebrow that drew attention away from the glare of his eyes. </p><p>Pulling closer, he leaned over and kissed her. It was a slow and comforting meeting of lips that were still soft from passion yet gentle in their gratitude. Then he relaxed back to the pillow beside her, and she resumed the slow movement of her hand along his chest and shoulder. She watched as calm washed over his expression. Yet she noted that the light lines around his eyes were still thoughtful. Tense.  </p><p>What else had he left behind in Trenton? Ah, now that was both easy to answer and might take years to understand. She reached over to kiss the rounded muscles of his shoulder, then rested her head on his chest as she watched her fingertips continue their lazy passage across his still firm skin. Feeling the gentle rise and fall of his breath, she half whispered, “What was it like talking with Tank after so long?” </p><p>Ranger was quiet, his breath remained even. “Like almost no time had passed,” he finally admitted. “He was always the one who I could rely on to tell me the truth, even if I didn’t want to hear it.” She felt him shrug. “It was good to have him guarding my back, again.” </p><p>After a couple moments, he reached up to clasp Stephanie’s hand over his chest. “Talking with you while I was here made it easier to consider calling him.” She recognized the puff of his exhale as humor. “After all, if you could accept me after all this time, maybe he could also.” </p><p>She felt the rising, slow rumble of amusement in his chest. “Another way you helped... and I can’t believe I’m saying this, but thanks for reaching out to Morelli. The next time you talk to him, pass along my thanks for referring Honda. He’s a good man. Solid at his job. And smart about counterintelligence.” </p><p>Stephanie recognized a redirection when she heard one. At the same time, she stifled her initial thought, which was that Ranger should simply thank Joe on Saturday when it was his turn to call the Plum household. Possibly that conversation would happen, but Stephanie wouldn’t force it. After all, there was a lot of history between Ranger and Joe. And, wryly, she admitted that probably the last thing they needed was for Stephanie to be in the middle of it. </p><p>So instead, she asserted loyally, “Well, Honda was smart to hire you.” </p><p>He released her hand to embrace her against his chest. “I won’t disagree. But he also has good instincts and was able to see the skills that I could provide to his team.” Ranger paused. “He wasn’t afraid to go down the paths I pointed out; I’ll give him credit for that.” He chuckled quietly as he added, “And he also had the balls to tell me to sit down and be a desk jockey.” His hand began an idle trace along her arm, loosening his grip and yet teasing her closer at the same time. </p><p>“You know, Steph, he specifically praised some of your intel. I didn’t tell anyone that you were involved, so your name will stay out of this mess. But your work was part of what we needed to finish tracing the contacts, and especially the ESL school connection and the money trail, from Figueroa up to John Whelan. And then back out to the various cells he’d set up. I had the pieces, but you gave me the threads to connect them.” She felt his breath along her hair like whiskers.</p><p>“It’s my spidey senses,” Stephanie half shrugged. “More of that Plum-Mazur intuition.”  </p><p>She felt his chuckle even though she didn’t hear it. “I know better than to argue that point.” He kissed her lightly, again. “But it’s also damned good research. You always were good at seeing the patterns behind the puzzles, and using your resources to track them down. Don’t sell yourself short.”</p><p>Her cheeks suddenly felt a flush of heat. Squirming slightly, she admitted, “I guess I should believe you. My friend Winkelsteen does keep trying to hire me into his computer research team. But, I’d really miss the part of my current job where I get on the road and talk to people. That was the part I liked best about Plum Bonds. Well, that and getting a paycheck, which was pretty awesome at the time.” </p><p>Ranger shifted. “That reminds me. You still haven’t cashed the check I sent. You bought me clothes and supplies. You really helped me those first few days.” He paused; Stephanie sensed he was searching for words. “Steph, I want to make sure I didn’t stretch your finances.”  </p><p>She pulled back, laying her head back on the pillow beside him. “You sent way too much, Rick. I was planning to discuss that later this weekend. I just can’t accept the amount you sent. I mean yeah, we did splurge on some insulated socks and some thermal undies with that parka we got, getting really wild and crazy in the store. But sheesh, they weren’t <em> that </em> nice.”</p><p>“I have the money, Steph. Just cash the check.”</p><p>“You fixed my toaster!” she exclaimed. “You vacuumed!” She pushed herself up on her arm. She was all set to double-down on her argument, and then saw the regard in his face as he looked up at her. She saw the man she’d decided that she wanted in her life, and he was in her bed at this very moment. </p><p>Suddenly the idea of starting an argument over whether he’d sent too much money in his effort to repay her seemed fairly ridiculous. So instead, she just shook her head. “How about we talk about this tomorrow and figure it out then?” </p><p>“Works for me,” he answered. </p><p>She smiled and settled herself back down, next to him but still able to see his face. His handsome, indulgent face. His straight brows, his proud nose, his full lips. And there was so much she wanted to tell him, so many things to ask. </p><p>But then, she recalled her recent conversation with Mary Lou and her unsubtle hint that Stephanie might need to keep affirming her emotions to Ranger until he truly believed. </p><p>So, reaching out to feather her fingers through his hair, she inhaled. “Rick, I’ve never been good at this,” she began in a voice that was unexpectedly husky from uncertainty. </p><p>“Hmm,” he purred, his eyebrow winging up provocatively. “After the past couple of hours I have a different perspective to offer, but will be happy to help with any practice you think is necessary,” his voice darkened as he slowly began running his free hand down her flank. Warm, enticing, and so very distracting.... </p><p>“Oh, stop,” she giggled as she lightly slapped his roving hand. Then, as he paused, she hastened to add, “Or well, no. Don’t stop. Maybe… wait a minute?” She caught his eyes, as humor welled up in place of confusion. </p><p>He chuckled as he resumed his unhurried caresses. “Personally, I’ve never been good at is waiting, but I’ll try this once since you asked.”</p><p>“Says Mr. Sits-Motionless-for-Hours-on-Stakeout,” she muttered. </p><p>At that, he laughed for real. Such a wonderful sound, rolling with life; Stephanie resolved to try to make him laugh every day. And for that to happen, she needed to do what she’d started. </p><p>She ran her fingers along his jaw from ear to chin, angling down the stubble on the far side of his face, pressing subtly until he was facing her again. “Rick, what I’m not good at is talking about the important things.” As his brows wrinkled slightly, she continued, “Well, yeah, I’ve gotten better over the years, but it’s still like a foreign language.” </p><p>She nodded, gathering her thoughts. “So you know how we’ve been talking on the phone over the past few weeks about how you could switch to P.I. work, and do jobs in Boston? And how nice it would be to be with each other?” She paused, waiting for his nod. “Okay, well what I keep not managing to say is that I really want that.”</p><p>His face relaxed. “I know that. You say it in all the ways you offer to help me.” He smiled. “And in the way you run interference to keep Gerry from calling me every day to ask when it’s going to happen.”</p><p>She snorted. “Yeah, I think he’s even more persistent than I am.” She nibbled briefly on her lip, then continued. “What I mean is that I want you to be here with <em> me </em>. Even though I know my urban mom lifestyle isn’t glamorous. Not like being on the run, hiding out together in our log cabin out in the frozen tundra, you and me against the world.” </p><p>“Wait. What cabin, Babe? I think I lost you somewhere in the frozen tundra.”</p><p>“It’s not a real cabin.” Stephanie rolled her eyes. “That was just an example of ‘living in the wind,’ as you used to call it. Holy cow.” She felt his chest vibrate with what she decided was silent amusement. </p><p>“What I’m trying to say, Rick,” she said as she once again smoothed his name on her tongue like a salted caramel made special for the holidays. “I’m trying to say that I love you. Then and now. More than I've ever loved anyone.” </p><p>And, with that, it was like the words of her heart leapt into the air, free to fly. “I love you and want to do whatever work we have to do to make this real. I want you here, with me, with us.” </p><p>She reached up to smooth back the heavy strands of hair that had fallen over his forehead, seeing his attention focused solely on her in a way that only Ranger had ever done. Inhaling, she savored his scent; the musk that was always and only Ranger. She traced along his temple, then softly around the edge of his ear. </p><p>As he didn’t say anything, she hastened to add, “I mean, you know… if that's what you want. After all, I can understand if it's, like, too soon. Or…,”  she paused for a breath and saw Ranger’s smile just before he gathered her back into his arms and stopped her with a kiss. </p><p>And she was lost in his kiss. His lips, so warm and still generous from their lovemaking, his tongue tender and deliberate. And, jeez, why was breathing even necessary when kisses like this existed? But, he pulled back in time for her inhale again, his eyes dark yet sparkling. He reached forward again, kissing her forehead, and then settled back down next to her.</p><p>“Babe,” he said, taking her fingers in his hand. With a gentle touch of his lips along her knuckles, he murmured, “This will make it much easier for me to explain the lease I took out earlier today on office space a few blocks away, off Centre Street.”  </p><p>“You what?” she asked, as though his words were complex, the idea mysterious. “When? What?”</p><p>His low, rumbling chuckle was like chocolate champagne frothing along her limbs. “My new office. I still have to file paperwork to incorporate in Massachusetts, but I have an address, now. He kissed each of her fingers, slowly, one after the other. “I still need a business name, though,” he murmured. “I was going to ask for your help with that tomorrow.” </p><p>With a wry tilt to his brow, he added, “I think we can do better than Manny’s suggestion of  Cases-R-Us. Or Vince’s contribution, which was Men in Black. I won’t even tell you what Hector suggested when I called him. Well, it doesn’t really translate, anyway.” He shrugged. “I guess I’ve never really hired people based on their ability to name things.” </p><p>She tumbled into laughter, and then scanned his face. “So wait, you rousted someone on Thanksgiving so they could rent you an office,” she pondered out loud. Then, recalling the time that Ranger had once dragged an elderly records clerk out of bed in the middle of the night to find where Constantine Stiva had hidden her, she shrugged. Okay, renting an office on Thanksgiving did make sense if you were Ranger.</p><p>And it was definitely better than the vacant lot that had been his main address for over a year in Trenton. </p><p>But then the rest of his admission came into focus. “So you’re planning to be be based here?” she worked out the ramifications of his words. “Not commuting from Manhattan?” A burst of hope pulsed in a wild heartbeat, pushing aside her momentary uncertainty. Until tonight their conversations had explored his goal of changing the nature of his business to be more routine, less dangerous. But she had always known that his current business was based in New York. </p><p>Now it was his turn to run his fingers through her hair, combing through her curls in a delicate, sensual caress. “Babe, the last few weeks showed me what it would be like trying to be with you while working somewhere else. Calling, talking, but not being together. It can work for a while, but I’ve realized that I want to spend my time mostly wherever you are.” </p><p>He continued speaking while running his fingers along her hairline. “I know you have a family, and we need to figure this out. So, there’s a small efficiency apartment attached to the office.” His warm breath against her cheek was followed by a kiss on the shell of her ear. </p><p>“So you’d live a few blocks away?” she asked, trying to keep focus through the sparks that went directly from his kiss to her core, radiating in heat outward through her limbs.</p><p>“It’s a starting point.” He pulled gently on a lock of her hair. “I want you to decide the pace. So your girls can see how a woman and a man come together when it’s done right.” </p><p>She turned and gazed at him. That was a concern she’d had, though hadn’t known how to word it. And he’d just acknowledged that he understood and had provided a solution.</p><p>Softly, he added, “It doesn’t matter to me where I live. My condo in New York is just a place to hang my hat between contracts. Just like my apartment in Rangeman was mostly where I stored my clothes while I was working, and where slept when I wasn’t.” A soft smile graced his lips. “I have the keys, so we can go look at the place tomorrow. And we can talk about how we’ll do this.”</p><p>“Rick,” she reached out, cupping the masculine roughness of his cheek in her hand. “I’m overwhelmed. This is what I wanted. I just didn’t want to push.”  </p><p>He looked into her eyes. “Steph, I <em> heard </em> you. I listened to what you were telling me over the past few weeks. And I remember who you are.” His eyes were relaxed, watching her with all his being. “Anyway, you’re here, so this is where I want to be. It’s as simple as that.” </p><p>Stephanie felt her lips open with wonder. <em> As simple as that. </em> </p><p>And as intricate as life itself could be. </p><p>There was so much she still wanted to ask. So much to discuss. What had he been doing during the years they’d been apart? What dreams had he abandoned by leaving RangeMan behind and what new ones had taken their place? Who had he loved? </p><p>She gulped at that particular thought, but she still wanted to know. It was like knowing about the girls from his soccer video, no matter her regrets. Because how could she answer the ghosts of his past if she didn’t know them? </p><p>How could she be brave enough to finally share all of her past, her ghosts, if he kept his hidden?</p><p>She took a deep breath. Beyond Ranger’s entanglements from recent years, she wondered who from Trenton was still in his orbit? Who did he wish still was? Could she help make that happen? And, last but not least, what had it <em> really </em> been like to meet with Tank again after all these years? </p><p>But, blinking back the traitorous shimmer of moisture from her eyes, she realized that they would have time to talk about what she wanted to know, and what he probably wanted to discover as well. </p><p>Because he wanted to be with her. They could discuss such things during long breakfasts on the weekend, between the day-to-day phonecalls and activities that made up life, and sometimes even during long and luxurious nights just like this.   </p><p>She smiled as he covered her hand with his larger one. </p><p>“By the way,” his deep voice tingled rolling sparks along her skin. “That reminds me: what are you doing for New Year’s Eve? You know,” he punctuated his words with leisurely presses of his lips to hers. “I haven’t yet seen those knock-off Louboutins you claim you still have.” She felt him smile against her lips. “I have a couple of particularly positive memories of seeing those on a distraction.”</p><p>“Mmm,” she answered as she tried to remember what it was like to speak in words. “They’re kinda, well, not in great shape,” she finally confessed against his lips.    </p><p>“No problem,” he murmured between kisses. “I’ll buy you a new pair.” His words paused while his lips and body continued speaking for him. Then he pulled back slightly and gazed in her eyes. “Anyhow, I think it’s time to make some new memories.” </p><p>And then he turned so he was looking at her from above, his eyes as deep and dark and full of possibilities as the night around them. As he lowered his lips to hers once again, she felt his body align itself along her skin, his weight solid and masculine. The muscles in his arms glistened with power; his movements were sinuous and shaped with gentleness. The words <em> new memories </em> echoed in her head in Ranger’s voice as his tongue slowly tasted the seam of her lips and then delved further, dancing with her tongue slowly and sensually. </p><p>“Only your lips, Babe,” he murmured as he paused for a breath, and then renewed the delightful dance between their lips, their fingers, their skin. </p><p>“Mmm,” she hummed, running her hands along his back, down his thighs, and back up to urge the muscular shape of his hips to hers. <em> Yes </em>, she thought. She would make sure they made good use of all the time that Ranger was gifting to them both. She had another chance with this man who knew how to help her fly, and she was going to use that time well. </p><p>
  <em> - fin - </em>
</p><hr/><p><em> Author’s Note: </em> </p><p>With a deep breath, we’ve finally arrived where the plot of this story has always been headed. Stephanie, Ranger, and I thank you for your support along the way. Or, at least the two of them will join me in thanks sometime tomorrow after, you know, um err, a good night’s sleep. </p><p>These characters have become so real to me, their stories so heartfelt, that it’s difficult to wrap up. Between outtakes and ideas along the way, I have material for various one-shots or short arcs in this story’s world that I’ll look at posting as separate chapters in a separate story at some point when life and time permit. For now, though, I am delighted that I’ll be able to kick back and read other people’s Stephanie Plum stories again for a while. So much to catch up on! </p><p>I started a dedication, but quickly realized that there are so many people to thank that I didn’t know where to begin. Because, truly, if you have been reading along, you have helped motivate me to write this tale. So I’ll simply thank my husband, who fully supports my creative urges, mysterious as they may be. Further, he shows me in word and deed what it’s like to be a strong, brave man who feels deeply. Who faces down adversity and his fears with the same bold heart that is the source of his passion and devotion. He’s not Ranger, and Ranger is not him… which is really good because Ranger and I fight a lot. And Stephanie would be unhappy because, like Ranger, I totally don’t share. So, to my husband: <em> Para ti, mi amor. Así de sencillo. </em></p><p> </p>
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